First Rain

The dry season is coming to an end. The margins between the only two seasons we know here - wet and dry - are flexible and slow coming. Yesterday's light shower may not be duplicated for another week. But, eventually, the rains fall consistently at the end of each day, creeping day by day earlier until they finally drench the earth around noon for four months straight. 400 of the annual 420 inches of rainfall occur from November through March, leaving the dry months aptly named.

Yesterday, as I sat in my home reading after school, I first heard a rustle in the trees, then a growing breath in the distance, then the light percussion that preludes the symphonic sounds of heavenly rains. I rushed to the door to confirm the long-awaited sight, then skipped down the road to join the few neighbors already out to welcome the rains back home.

My friend Pak Jumanto stood with me under a palm tree. We chatted about the blessing of rain, allowing the scattered shower to wash over us as it cleansed the earth around us. The sprinkles came and went, came and went. When they finally decided to come in full, Jumanto invited me into his house where he smoked and we visited further. We laughed above the cacophony outside, and we humbly listened to this long-absent performance. We were refreshed.