Que Sera Sara?

Many poets have written of its smells and texture and taste. So much so I can feel it even now in this chair.

I love every type, from mizzling damp dust to torrential waterfalls, flexing their crackling power overhead.

I love the coziness of indoor refuge and retreat. I love the pounding aliveness of getting caught out.

I was once kissed under a mighty oak in a downpour, just like in the movies.

Delicious before: a dampening pall or tingling shoots of anticipation, or the utter surprise of a water world opening up to eat you whole with its hot, wet tongue.