When I first stepped outside this morning I could hear the water gurgling down the pipes and into the gutters. This started me thinking whether it had been raining.

It is the middle of summer, here in Western Australia, and where I live it is not the usual time for rain. I am wearing a t-shirt and it’s warm. Occasionally, we will get mornings like this, and those are the mornings one may wish to dance in the rain.

‘Hmm,’ I thought. ‘The atmosphere around my home seems slightly misty. Perhaps it rained a little earlier and I’m simply hearing the after-effects.’

To check this theory, I looked at the sand and I looked at the fence, but could not see any evidence there had been rain. The downpipes continued to gurgle (as they do while I’m writing this).

‘If there is water coming down those pipes, it must have been raining at some point, so why can’t I see it,’ I thought to myself. I decided to step out from under the roof of my tiny patio, and onto the sand of my backyard. Immediately it could be felt, a warm glossing liquid over my skin. The soft, almost invisible to the naked eye, gentle light rain upon my face and hair felt like someone spritzing me, but without the sound of the spritzer, the someone, or the harsh squirt I might feel on my face.

‘So,’ I nod to myself now. ‘This is awesome. I quite like it.’

As I think, and look around, and hear the giggling and glugging of the drainpipes begin to quieten, and see the cat on the wall at the back fence, I know he and the other creatures up with me this morning are all enjoying the gentleness of this warm and sweet gift of rain, as small as it may be.

I believe the cat has gotten over it, though. He’s currently digging another hole to Bermuda.

I’ll explain the Bermuda theory in another post perhaps. Today, we simply enjoy the experience of rain.