"Dry season coming" he answered simply, "they sense that and moving to another place, they done what they had to do here." I thought about that answer silently, listening to the wind in the grass--did the butterflies understand the language of the warm wind? They must do I concluded-because that breeze was bringing a message of dry season and away they flew on the breeze moving on somewhere else before the grass turned brown and Savannah fire would blow on that wind. Dad and I continued walking, he holding my hand and with the other touching the tips of the tall grass on the roadside. I knew then that Daddy could understand the language of the grass and the breeze. I looked down at my feet covered in dried mud, we'd just walked through a puddle and I was amazed at how fast the sun dried my feet. Dry season coming, I hummed this to myself.
The thunder clapped in the late afternoon, but there was no rain cloud in the sky. I lay in the hammock rocking, listening to the sound of the wind on the thatched roof. A gentle breeze and I prayed for it to continue. The air was stifling and I knew a big rain would pour down soon. I was 20 yrs old but when the rain fell I still had the urge to take off my clothes and run through the rain with uncontrolled joy, the way I could when I was 5. That's funny, even joy is controlled when you're older, because a 20 yr old can't just go screaming in the rain--people would think I was mad or something.
It was my first real relationship
It was my first real relationship
"Dry season coming, hear that thunder?" My thoughts were interrupted by his statement.
"What? Thunder is rain, "
"Well you hear thunder during this rainy season" he asked
"Not really..."
"Yes you hear thunder around more when rainy season coming to an end you know." I looked across at him and smiled. He too knew the language of the breeze I thought to myself. I didn't say it out lout, he wouldn't know what I was talking about. " Rain gone come just now though" he said. Half an hour later, from boiling hot sun, a cloud, pushed by thunder claps probably rolled across the sky.
A loud clap and lightning and the cloud burst, like a overripe cashew falling to the hard ground. The raindrops hit the dry sand and burst into tiny pieces shifting the sand particles. I shook with excitement in the hammock and kissed him. "So this might be one of the last rains?" Its late august and I'm suddenly sad because the end of the rains, means the end of summer, which means I leave again the place my heart lay buried somewhere the breeze only knew.
"Well, not the last, always got more rain" he replied. I smiled-always and answer for everything. "Well, go nah, nobody watching, everybody hiding from the rain." I hopped out the hammock and began taking off my clothes until I stood in my panty and bra. I ran into the rain and put my face up, opened my mouth and tasted it-sweet. I ran around just like a minute, then stood under the edge of the roof where the water running off was heavy and watched the dry ground get soaked in a matter of seconds.
Yes yellow butterflies, warm breeze, hot sun and thunder. Dry season coming. But I would miss the rain, I would miss the mud but dry season meant cashew season, whitee and mango. Dry season meant fishing trips to pools drying up and picnics and roast fish. Dry season would follow the rain, the rain would follow the sun, in a cycle that I hope would never end.
