A screen door slams means the

cats out for the night, while in

the sleepout I lie under the fan

that slowly stirs the limpid air.

I smoke another Chesterfield.

The house settles and contracts;

the dark is velvet with moths,

batting against the fly screens.

A cooling breeze next arrives

bringing with it a smell of rain.

White flash and close rumbles,

heralding the welcome arrival,

the smell of it on the red earth:

starting now as a patter upon

the iron roof, then a drumming

that comes – faster and faster,

the wet rods of drenching rain

I stub out my last cigarette

and step out onto the veranda;

breath in the smell of wet rain,

strip off my singlet and shorts

to walk out naked into the rain;

letting it lash delicious onto my

receptive skin, mouth, and hair:

precious rain in Australia, the

most precious element of all.

                                           © D G Moody 2022