I watched from my window the big droplets of water descending from the sky, creating perfect circles on clear puddles, starry-liked shapes on the warm ground, sorry disfigured spots on the weathered walls.
It was Saturday, and I was briefly distracted from the David Mitchell book I bought from two warehouse sales ago.
I pondered how it would feel like to have raindrops bouncing off my skin; to stand under the rain and be wet from head to toe; to hear thunder rumble ominously in the distance and hope that a bolt of lightning will not stray and strike too close for comfort.
Hmm. I think I would like to try that – if only someone up there can guarantee that I will not catch a cold after that.
And so I imagined – arms wide open, menacing grey skies, leaves floating up, duelling dragons, mini tornadoes, weird thundercloud shapes, flying pigs – oh, the like.
Television, the silver screens – they always made it look so fun. And cool. Somehow.
Little did I know my wish would be granted immediately the next day – and at the most unlikeliest place no less – in time for the annual Qing Ming festival.
Really – I think a drizzle would have do just fine to satiate my curiosity.
But no – it had to be bucketsful of water pouring forth from the heavens, and a pitiful umbrella that seemed to serve its purpose not at all.
Fun? A little, actually, I must admit. Hee. But obviously not for the other three sharing the same umbrella.
I tell you, the Powers That Be sure have got a sense of humour.