Since Friday, we had one day of heavy rain, and two days of stillness and heat, humidity, mosquitos and swarms of bugs attracted to the house lights. Days and nights waiting for rain. We can smell it in the ozone, hear it in the parrots' daytime squarking, see the cobos spiralling down instead of up. We feel the changes in our blood and our bones.
In this interlude between the dry and the wet, we sense the change coming, sweat trickling down our backs, night time thunder distant and electricity in the air. What kind of wet season can we expect, we wonder. Will it be one of torrential downpours overflowing the streets from drains clogged with the debris of careless litter? Will it be the drier hot and wet season waiting for intermittent showers?
The bush doesn't wonder. Trees on the hills are all shades of green already. Even the bamboo that had dried out, or burned, is sprouting again. Life in the tropics is amazing, abundant, expectant, constantly pushing towards the sun, even when it is obscured by the grey clouds of the ITCZ. Would that we could respond so readily to the changing seasons, climate change, and political storms coming.