The pictures of glorious floriana I posted a while ago? They were made possible because so far, this year’s rainy season hasn’t been particularly wet, meaning the buds were left to flourish on their branches instead of being lashed and buffeted by the daily deluge. Apparently in “normal” years, only the hardiest blooms make it to full bursting display. Of those, approximately 80% are picked by my son on his way home from the kinder bus.
But just the past couple of weeks, the rains have finally arrived. “Lok dai yue(t)” (big rain) beats against the house all night. Our house is tiled and there’s no tin roof, so the gentle sound belies the strength of the downpour. I can often be seen heading off to work on a rainy day carrying only a small umbrella, since my laissez-faire arrogance tells me that’s all I’ll need to ensure I arrive at work looking at polished as when I left the house. And also, because I can fit a small umbrella in my handbag. Walking out our door, I am pushed violently down the hill by millions of huge pelting raindrops, clinging for my life to the safety barrier as I cross the bridge over the crashing rapids of our usually piddling creek. My umbrella inverts itself and may as well be made out of newspaper, for all the protection it affords. In the 30 seconds between attempting to collapse it and getting into the taxi, I am drenched, hair (already frizzled from the humidity) now plastered to the back of my neck, stockings soaked up to my thighs, shoes squelching, and steno machine only a 50% chance of turning on at work.
Flowers lie soggy and smashed on the ground.
I should’ve let Rufus pick them.
But the rains bring the insects. What the local fauna lacks in poison, it makes up for in mad size and bizarre embodiment.