It rained. Finally. I often check the forecast, maybe daily, hoping to see icons of clouds, droplets, or thunder. It had been a very dry summer where I live. The heat wasn’t as bad as it was two years ago, it was fine, but the season felt lifeless and boring without water pouring down through muggy air, without thunder growling in distant clouds.
I remember the first time I saw someone pushing up on the awning of their shop with a broomstick to get rid of all the rainwater that had pooled above. The dark red fabric was stretched into what looked like big water bellies hanging down. She was careful, watched the underside of the fabric attentively and stood a little off to the side. My eyes had been wandering over all the storefronts. When I saw her, I too locked my gaze on her awning. I knew what was going to happen. With eyes wide open and a slight smile, she gave the fabric a nudge and gallons of rainwater rolled over the edge, then splashed down onto the stone with a »woosh«.
The last two weeks went by quickly. The days, though, felt long. There was a citywide cultural celebration on the weekend, and I went with a friend. An American woman played the violin and sang in Japanese. Some students had prepared a small exhibition on local plants and crops. People seemed joyful. I was surprised when we walked toward the main stage and found artists mixing and performing downtempo and trip-hop music.
It’s September now and there are plenty of things I’ve set my mind on. Right now I just hope it’ll rain some more. There’s something about warm summer air, gray skies and dense rain. The way streets and flowerbeds smell after a downpour, before they dry up again.