The Rain God’s reign over my city is very closed fisted. Sigh!
We beseech him, eyes raised heavenwards, for some relief, but it is only his fierce and merciless brother The Sun who laughs down upon us. And just as we give up, and hang the clothes out to dry, The Rain decides to play Peek-a-Boo with us, says a hearty Boo and disappears, and we are left with wet clothes, hot sun and a wrung heart wailing Boo-Hoo-Hoo.
Please Mr Sun, if I may be bold enough to make a suggestion, perhaps now is a good time for a recess, preferably in the arms of some heavy moisture laden dark clouds. Perhaps now is the time to hand over the reins to another. Hint, Hint, the shirk Mr Rain.