Bare-armed, shivering, one eye on the door.
Cold.
The hard sound of rain thundering off the tin roofing, the plinks and plops and swishes as it sluices from the eaves onto the ground, into lakelike puddles.
The sky roiling dark; the smell of cool, wet growing things. The occasional gust of wind that stirs up more water sounds and a variety of new earthy scents.
Watching people cover their heads and run through the deluge, my hands buried to the forearms in cool, damp mud.
Beautiful.
The hard sound of rain thundering off the tin roofing, the plinks and plops and swishes as it sluices from the eaves onto the ground, into lakelike puddles.
The sky roiling dark; the smell of cool, wet growing things. The occasional gust of wind that stirs up more water sounds and a variety of new earthy scents.
Watching people cover their heads and run through the deluge, my hands buried to the forearms in cool, damp mud.
Beautiful.