It’s coming. The rain, that is.
Clothes stick to you, hands (and everything else) are perpetually slippery with sweat and fresh food can’t be left out of the fridge for more than a moment or two, or you can almost see the mould start to sprout. The cold water that comes out of the tap isn’t. Wet things won’t dry. Dry things don’t stay that way. The pages of books curl up and feel damp. Everyone is grumpy. The horizon is a boiling mass of enormous black thunderclouds, lit internally from time to time by lightning too far to hear the accompanying clap of thunder.
Inch by inch, it creeps closer. This is the worst weather they’ve had up here for years, according to the locals. It’s dry, but in a really, really wet way.
Oh please, let it just rain…..