It’s one of those underwater days, when the rain has turned everything grey and wet, and thunder’s rolling somewhere off in the distance.
In tropical places and really wet places this would be called the monsoon. But here in Nassau, the rain’s not as predictable as monsoon rain (which rolls in and falls daily, often at specific times of the day); you know (or hope!) the rain’s going to fall in the afternoon most days, and the roads stay wet and puddles collect on the sides of them. Some years it’s like that. But some years there’s more rain (like this week’s rain — every day, most of the day) and some years there’s only clouds and stifling humid heat.
Days like today (which is a day like the day when I took my final G. C. E. O-level, way back when, at the beginning of June, a drippy, grey, swishy day when the rain dripped down the spears of the great big sisal plants that lived outside my parents’ front window until the hurricanes of the turn of the century knocked them flat, and when the end of the day was marked with the news of a scholarship to go to a very special school and a rehearsal for the entertainment on prom night) are days I treasure.
And today’s just that sort of day — three decades almost to the day later.