Sunday July 18, 2004
|And then it rained
Graham was outdoors, cleaning the pond filter, when the light turned that peculiar collodion yellow-grey which announces imminent rain of the dramatic sort. So I dashed out to see what might be happening. To the west, and approaching rapidly, was a great mass of rain cloud, roiling and rolling in the sky.
“Do you think it’s going to rain?” asked Graham.
“Oh, I think I can guarantee that.”
“What do you think you’re doing out here, then?”
“I want to see if we’re going to have a bit of a whirlwind,” I said. “Like the funnel-cloud I saw in Boston the other day.”
Just then a great flash of lightning split the sky in two and the first heavy drops of rain splattered onto the ground and into the pond. Graham gathered up his filter cleaning tools and made for shelter.
“Come on in, you silly sod,” he said in passing.
“I won’t be a minute. I don’t want to miss anything dramatic.”
“Don’t come complaining to me if you get soaked, then.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
The clouds raced overhead, full of energy, generating circles and twists, but not coming to anything and not promising anything dramatic in the way of a whirlwind. It grew darker and darker, and the rain slanted in towards me.
“I think I’d better come in now,” I said to Graham, who was standing safe and dry in the doorway.
And then it rained. Hard, heavy, and constant, splashing high into the air, drumming on the roof of the car, and completely flooding my neighbour G’s potato patch, the one he’s been complaining was suffering because of the drought.
“You watch,” I said. “Tomorrow he’ll be complaining because his potatos are too wet.”
“Don’t be cruel.”
“I’ll try. But it’s so much fun.”