It's on its last legs, the monsoon. A nip in the air's found its way in already. And soon, very soon, these angry skies and rain and fog will give way to warm sunshine and clear blue skies. The cold will close in on us by late afternoon and we'll snuggle into thick socks and woollies, and warm icy hands over heated coals. Mornings will waken us to crisp, cloudless sights that we can see forever and beyond through.
But I'll miss the sounds of the rainy season. The whiplash crackle of lightning, the boom of thunder, the rain pouring down in torrents. Frightening but oddly comforting. And the sights of the wet season. The brightly coloured umbrellas, people moving about in blurred outlines outside wet car windows, the little Pol Pot skulls clustered on the glass, the world fogged over and greyed out. Uniquely beautiful.
Au revoir. When it leaves, I shall pick up my phone and earphones and comfort myself to sleep with sounds of falling rain.
