A layer of humidity has sat like a sticky blanket on top of our dusty, tired yard. Everything has been thirsty: the carefully nurtured orchids on our palm tree, the doves and our poor, panting dogs. Yesterday I saw a European Starling - an occasional visitor to our yard - arrive and sit on the wire, his beak open, gasping. As I had just filled the bird bath, he immediately swooped down and put his entire head under the water.
We have been hot and thirsty, too. And then…
This afternoon, surprisingly, we had a shower. As Jamaicans would say, it was a blessing, and unexpected. At first, a few hesitant, large drops fell. Then a few more. Then the shower made up its mind, and decided to step things up a little.
That delicious sound on the roof - a gentle roar - began as the tropical downpour got under way. Yes, it was determined. The garden breathed in. The dogs wanted to run out and cover themselves in mud. I got my hair wet.
The next stage was a gentle slowing, after twenty minutes or so of persistent drumming. A few minutes of absorption, more inhalation, and that indescribable scent they call “petrichor” as the dry earth breathed back.
And then, the final drops, soft and sweet, and the sound of the rain slithering and sliding off the roof takes over. Dripping and spitting down.
And tonight, a happy chorus of tree frogs outside the window.
🌧This song is certainly blesséd:
https://youtu.be/kPYSS8z1u2k?si=WXMFrYfm8g8qb74C
There's nothing quite like the sound of rain after a drought