She returned to the bedroom in the darkness and said, There’s a big electrical storm. But she spoke in Spanish. It was about 3 a.m.
She had looked out the bathroom window. I could see nothing because the bedroom drapes were shut, but I heard thunder.
Shortly after, it began to rain. With spirit. And the wind blew.
Not last night, but the night before.
Around 9 a.m. yesterday, I was walking around the neighborhood plaza. Stones and soil littered the street, stuff that had sat in peace for months against a curb during the dry time until whacked by that storm.
A metal frame covered by a blue plastic tarp, where someone recently had sold beer or tacos or trinkets, had blown over.
And it was cool. One downside to our spring is that it gets too warm on the mountaintop. It’s most noticeable in late afternoon and early evening.
Back at the Hacienda, walking through the downstairs terraza, I smelled dirt. It was wet roof tile, formed out of clay, a distinctive smell of dampness.
That afternoon, yesterday, it rained again, gently and lasting longer. The dry grass rejoiced, as did every other speck of plant life within our property walls.
Is this the start of the rainy season? It could be bogus because such things happen, but it might also be true. If so, our whole world changes overnight from death and dust to lively green and damp.
And there will be no more unpleasantly warm afternoons. It will stay cool till next springtime. And it will be very sweet. Change is good.
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(Note: Spring is the worst season here. Ain’t that something?)