Still sun, voices, movement in the square and then this change. A few dark clouds reach and suddenly everything changes. Not loud. Rather than a short breath that Heaven takes too deeply.
And then he comes. The rain.
He patters, runs, rushes and takes the direction for a moment.
For a short time everything gets smaller. Paths disappear under water, conversations become shorter, steps faster. And everyone knows: now heaven is serious.
As fast as it begins, it is sometimes over again.
Silence.
The sun breaks through as if it had been delayed. The place is steaming. Paths easily rise into the air as if they wanted to tell briefly what just happened.
Then something happens that you only see on campsites like this:
Children are the first.
Puddles are checked, newly discovered, officially declared “playable”. Barefoot, in rubber boots or in exactly the shoes that should actually remain dry. Everything is right. Nothing is important enough to stop.
Adults need a moment longer.
A look at the sky, a brief consideration, then this little agreement: It is good again.
The place fills again
But there are also the other days.
The ones where the rain stays. Stubborn, as if he himself had no Kalenthe
Every journey becomes a small mission, every free spot becomes precious.
And yet, something of its own is created.A different pace. Less program, more togetherness. Conversations under plans, children in rain jackets, adults with this “well, then just like that” look.
At some point this one sentence falls, half joking, half hoping:Whoever arrives in the rain is rewarded with sun.
It's usually true.
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