When it rains in the afternoon, I open the tall windows in my office that lead out on to the balcony and keep them open to feel the cool air crawl inside, which is better than the artificial breeze, though sticky.
I sit at my desk and write distractedly, edit, reword and manage not to care about progress in what I'm writing as much as watching the encroaching drops as the wind carries them further inside, closer to my feet.
"You have a rain fetish", my friend Brian tells me.
"Admittedly", I reply, and after having lived in the desert for three years I'll make no attempt to hide how much I've missed the rain.
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