It was the smell at first. That angelic ozone of precipitation, evapourating from parched concrete, drifting on the fickle Pacific breeze and in through the open window of our apartment. Could it be? Could rain, that long-forgotten benefactor of my homeland, that confidante, comforter and comrade of the Anglo-Saxon race have finally made landfall on these colonial shores?
I pulled open the French windows onto the balcony, shy, timorous, not wanting to be wrong and so wanting it to be true.
There it was. Rain. Rain. Rain was falling - falling - from the cinder skies. The cars shimmered with a majestic lustre. My eyes defined a world made new, a world of gleaming hues, where every bejeweled surface refracted a million images in each droplet.
As you can imagine this was very hard to photograph, but I've done my best.
Dark skies over the village...what could it mean?
Look! The little grey speckles are where raindrops have landed!!
Told you (special thanks to Amanda's car).
Me, in the rain. OK it was very light rain, but it all counts! I'm hoping to see a puddle soon.
