Okay, I'm sorry, I'm obsessed.
But I can't help it! Coming from the country, I can't help but get wrapped up in the phenomenon! It even inspired me to write a little something...
"I skip up the last few steps to the veranda, the thick earthy smell that only accompanies the eucalyptus and red, Australian dirt filling my lungs. There's also the slight scent of red gum shavings and varnish lilting in the air courtesy of dad's woodshed.
A low, melodic rumble makes me stop in my tracks on the top step of the veranda. It builds in volume, then as quick as it was there, it disappears again. It makes me turn to look over my shoulder with caution though I knew it presented no threat. Even still, my eyes take in the guilty silence of the tall, skinny gums, packed so thickly they make it impossible to see more than a hundred meters ahead, so close together that when the breeze runs past their leaves will rustle ever so slightly, spreading the rumour of the weather to come.
Now standing on the top of the veranda, my body half turned, my eyes still transfixed upon the horizon, I feel the slightest change in the air. Its suddenly heavier, the light is darker and little raindrops fall to kiss the top of my head and my upturned palms. They're small in number at first, gradually building in impact till I move out into the open. Now they fall on my face, making me squirm as they pattern my skin unevenly. The breeze from the bush that was once muggy now has a new sense of crispness. It no longer feels musty and heavy but fresh and clean; a detox for my nose.
The momentary pause in the droplets strikes my curiosity and makes me turn up to the sky. Was that all that we were to receive? The most that mother nature saw fit for the drought stricken land? The clouds look like they had heard my silent question and were debating their answer. When I decide no more is to come, another low, tumultuous and enchanting rumble emanates from above and before I have time to respond, the heavens open upon my unprotected head. I squeal, not in fright but surprise and joy, jutting out my tongue to taste the tannin flavoured rain before tearing up the steps to cover.
And from there I wipe the water from my cheeks with my sleeve, a silly grin plastered on my face, sitting in my fathers wicker chair as his fathers before him would have sat, watching the first storm of winter roll across the open bushland, washing away the red summer dust."
Avec l'amour, pour toujours et un jour,
- xx
Excuse my bad pronunciation.
Image courtesy of *BELLAVISTA2
