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I washed the windows in the morning: it rained in the afternoon: it usually does!
But this time the rain did not stop. It pattered down, drumming on tin roofs, became heavier as evening darkened into night; hammered against old brick walls, streaming away in gleaming rivulets across asphalt drives, quickly pouring into already overflowing gutters; swirlingly is carried into overfull creeks where it cascades in silver ribbons onto nearby waterlogged paddocks. Slowly, by imperceptible degrees, the water rises and spreads in broad swathes across the flatness.
For days, the rain continues to fall from grey leaden skies: sometimes drizzle, occasionally showers, more often torrents: long straight lines of teeming rain. Everything lies saturated; pools become ponds, the ponds lakes; the lakes, rivers. Brown banjo frogs bongo with delight; mallards rampantly water ski; black swans drop in and glide nostalgically; gumboots and waders shake off the dust of long hibernation. There will be new freshness, growth . . . and more rain!
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