The rainy season will begin in Fundong on Monday. It happens every year on March 15th, according to every single person you talk to, even the guy out on the sunny street on March 16th. That is when rainy season BEGINS, and no one can be bothered with pesky details like reality. So as of Monday morning, the dust will be splattered with drops of water, and all the green that has been so demurely hiding itself for months will start to peer out again. The valleys that disappeared in December behind a dusty haze will magically reappear, and one tiny corner of the world will look clean and new again. It’s a lovely time of year, swiftly followed by a few months of mud and canceled meetings and rain pounding so loudly on the tin roof that one can’t even watch a movie and one might even freak out for an hour or so before one remembers that headphones are awesome and more powerful than even the rain TAKE THAT NATURE! I WILL WATCH JOE VS. THE VOLCANO IN SPITE OF YOUR NEFARIOUS WAYS!
For two years I missed the slow transition of the seasons. The gentle (and in Seattle, seemingly endless) drift of winter into spring. The sudden realization every year that, Hey! It’s 7:30 and it’s still light out! I missed that moment a lot. Almost as much as I missed fall, with it’s lovely, crisp air–the perfect excuse to buy more yarn so I could start another sweater that would never be finished. I missed it, and I bemoaned the monotony of the paltry two seasons that switched back and forth with such abruptness four times a year. And the wretched 12 hour days, each one starting and ending at exactly the same time! (And the wretched chickens! With their chicken noises! At any and every hour with no regard for the sun or it’s position!) Oh it was a hard life I led over there, with the seasons and the livestock.
And now, suddenly, I’m sort of sad I won’t get to wake up on Monday morning and go for a walk and see this:
I think the cheese is worth it, but sometimes it’s hard to tell.