Once, when I was younger, I spent time in the Indonesian Island of Sumbawa right at the beginning of the wet season. Clouds would gather in the hills, then creep closer to the small town we ran our errands in. Eventually, one day they arrived. The sky burst and rain dropped, splattered, teemed, pooled and flooded the streets. And that brought the kids. They raced into the water, laughing, dancing, playing soccer. Euphoric at the hungry end of the dry season.
Here in Canberra today, clouds have snuck up from somewhere, amidst the desert-dry heat of the day, and now it’s raining, the air smelling like a quenched thirst. And I am trying my best to resist the impulse to run out into the courtyard and start dancing my relief at the coolness, and the newly-found fresh air.
Dancing in the rain in a university courtyard definitely ain’t a good idea for a guy who will need very shortly to convince people he is responsible and employable and scholarly and sensible. Not a good idea at all, but very tempting nevertheless.