On rainy days we don’t go anywhere. We don’t go anywhere because there’s nowhere to go. Sit in the corner, watch the water fall, the whole world is in my head. Listen to the sound of the drops on the thatch. Listen to the sound of the drops coming in through the holes, land in the bowls and the pots and the pans lining the floor to catch the strays as they come into the hut. Block everything else in the world out and just listen.
On rainy days the ground is happy, the heat slinks away. The dust finally settles and the green returns to the earth. The ferns start to unfold and rise slowly up, up towards the sky. The dry earth turns to puddles, the paths turn to mud. The stream levels rise, the banks slink away.
On rainy days we watch the storms come in. We look up at the clear blue skies and spot the dark cloud moving towards us and guess about whether it will hit us soon or pass us by. We go for walks. We wash our clothes. We fetch water and take a shower and get caught in the storm as it comes in. We head back inside. The clothes get slowly damper on the lines as the storm washes off those bits of soap that never come off while bucket washing my laundry.
We walk slowly inside, enjoying the drops, we dry off and bundle up and leave the door to the hut wide open to allow the breeze to cool the inside of the room. We move the candles out of the way of the wind, we sweep the dust from the corners where it continually collects. The wind blows it back inside and we finally get the larger pieces out the door or into the puddle on the stoop. We move back inside. We dry off our hands.
On rainy days we take the brazier inside to cook on, we let the fumes fill the room with smoke. We pile on extra small pieces of charcoal so that the fire will catch without needing to be swung. We wait for it to heat up, we let it warm the room. We make soup or stew and sit on the bed eating and watching a movie. We make popcorn with the extra hot coals. We put on music, we take turns putting on songs. We find the perfect songs. We stop taking turns and listen to the perfect songs one right after another. We sit on the concrete floor, hands around our knees. We sit on the floor and listen to the music and the glow of the candles lights the hut with long shadows and soft hisses. We turn off the sound. We listen to the rain.
The rain stops and we wish for it to keep going. We wish for the soothing soundtrack to the day. The excuse to be as slow as possible. The calm way in which everything stops in deference. We fall asleep and it starts raining again.
The rain continues through the night, and slows to a stop sometime in the early morning. The storm has come and gone, come and gone again, and it is dry. The leaves shake off the drops and drops of dew and it is a new day, bright and blue skies once more.
The rain has stopped and the sun has returned and we go outside, blinking into the sun, the clouds burning off again, the world returning to what it was before. The sky turns from dark to grey to blue and we wait. We wait for the rains to return. We wait for the rains to return to the skies once more.