It rained this afternoon, and I pulled on turquoise rainboots, unclenched my umbrella and stepped outside. The scent of rain hitting scalding earth drifted towards me. Petrichor rising, blood of the earth, scent of dust and thirst, not sweet at all and yet so sweet it could be music, dazzling and painful and thirsty and home all in one. I feel like I could live on this aroma, eat it, drink it. It makes me feel so strong.
Warm steam curled around my legs. The road shone, every clean wet pebble blue-silver beneath the semi-sun, the lake molten silver on my right. A raindrop landed on my back and rolled slowly down my spine, making me shiver. Grainy mud spattering on the back of my legs. My glories, so splendid at eight this morning you’d swear your eyes were malfunctioning, now curled in upon themselves. Surely Solomon, in all his glory...
Cold Diet Coke burnt a path down my throat. Mzungu the rabbit licked my ankles. The kids, all eager, bright smiles and greetings, sweet lazy so-and-sos who haven’t yet glimpsed the toil of their futures. I find myself liking them more than I was ready to. They are so young, they hold nothing back, their stories tumbling over each other, and each wants to be heard, to know, to be known. They are peculiar, beautiful. And even though I know better than to patronise them, I still marvel that each child is so different.
Lightning glinting silently in the sky after dinner, and not much later, it pours and floods the floor to the starboard of my bed. I close the windows, rain falling on my arms and my hair.
And the night blows in, smooth and velvet on my face, starridden, strange, immortal.