washing my gully

Gully-washer.

That is what Felipe called it.  Or, more accurately, that is what his former girl friend from the backwoods of Mississippi called it.  A Faulknerian image crouched in the recesses of his mind.

That is also what this boy from Powers would call it.  Those sudden down pours of rain that are so much of a good thing, the ground cannot absorb its fortune.

Whatever divine department metes out moisture decided last night was a good time to let the wet times really roll in Melaque. 

We have already had a slight rain.  But last night's light and noise was more like Highlights from Wagner.

And the rain came down.  Around an inch within a couple of hours.  Enough to make Nik Wallenda consider another use for his tight rope.

I grew up in the coast range of southwestern Oregon, where there gullies aplenty.  On the flat lands of Melaque, we are a bit gully shy.  But nature will have her way. 

During last year's hurricane flooding, the street in front of our church building was transformed into a stream.  This rain lacked the Noah factor, but it was strong enough to reduce a side street to a diorama of the grand canyon.

At least, we now have a gully to wash.

And, as those of us in Mexico repeatedly point out, there is nothing so welcome as rain.  Especially, on these tropical shores.  Where, paradoxically, water falling through the air reduces its moisture content.

For a few precious hours, at least.