The rain has come. At least, I hope so.
About three days ago, it felt as if someone had sloshed a 55 gallon barrel of water on the sauna that is summer Melaque. What had been a pleasant summer the day before turned into the equivalent of water boarding. Hot. Wet. Claustrophobic.
That usually means that the tropical rains are on their way. Something we summer residents pray for.
The rains bring some relief by washing the humidity out of the air. But it is a mixed blessing. Most of the rainfall evaporates within the day and we are right back were we started.
Hot. Wet. Claustrophobic. Praying for another round of rain.
Even though we live in the tropics, we do not get the Bangladesh-under-water monsoons. Our rain is a bit more like Venice for a day. But we can put up with the pond-hopping in return for a bit of relief.
Without our four months of rain (come October, we may not see another drop until next June), our surrounding hills would lack the greenery and flowers that give us the misnomer "jungle." Instead, we would be facing New Mexico-style wild fires.
I started by writing I hope the rains have returned. These things can be a bit dodgy.
In the season, we often get rain at night. I cannot hear it because of the B-26 roar of the fans in my bedroom. But I knew something was up early this morning when I could hear the thunder over the din of the fans. And saw the lightning. The summer companions of rainstorms.
All that was missing was the usual power failure. And I did not need to wait for long. The fans went dead. The refrigerator's failing condenser stopped humming.
No electrical noise. Just the subtle patter of rain. Punctuated now and then with a cannon boom and a flash of light. And a cool breeze as the rain fell.
It felt nice.
This afternoon there is little evidence of the rain The sun is out. The damp is rising. And the electricity is back.
All is right with the summer.
Even better, I am off to have lunch with two friends at The Frog Annex -- or The Frog West, as we are calling it.
It is going to be a good day.