Waiting for it
The first few hesitant drops of rain draw us out – nearly ten of us ring the courtyard from our backyards and balconies, evaluating the chartreuse yellow cast of the light and watching the sullen clouds slowly move in. One neighbour is shirtless, in shapeless green boxers. His dog panting languidly behind him, he grins ruefully at me – “It’s only supposed to drop the temperature by a few degrees,” he says. “but I'll take it.” The hot air presses insistently on my skin, almost all of my skin, as I'm in the skimpiest things I own and still covered in the day’s sheen of sweat and sunscreen. “Come on down!” the woman across from me hollers, brandishing her beer at the sky. It finally does and, like the trees, we all lean into it. We shut our eyes and quiver. In a split-second the rain increases and one by one we return to sit in our deep casement windows – we can catch the mist and watch the storm’s quick pass from there.