The Southwest…

Thunder grumbles off in the distance and answers itself from the opposite direction. I hear the wind rushing down the valley towards me from miles away, echoing off the rocky walls, flattening the willow saplings, and sending the pink flamingo in our yard into a neurotic frenzy. With the wind comes a stray bird searching for cover and our fat yellow cat from under his favorite bush makes a run for safety, his furry belly swinging from side to side.
And rain.
The cold drops impale me. They tap from leaf to leaf outside my window making the flower heads bob in time. Rivulets stream off the tin roof like a watery cloack and the smell of moist pine needles greets my nose. The black dog huddles fearfully in the corner atop our row of work shoes and the cat stares out the window, his tail twitching in annoyance.
The rainy season has finally come.