Yesterday morning, as we walked to the bus in a light rain, the skies crackled with lightening and thunder. By the time the bus peeled off, Mr. Understanding’s driver , Shabu Shabu, had arrived and I corralled him for a ride home; the water, by this time, was coming down in sheets. I worried about the wisdom of sending my kids to school, so fierce was the rain. Maybe they should have stayed home? The road leading into the school is barely paved and a filthy slough runs along one side of it, a filthy slough which could easily overflow its banks and strand helpless children. Too late. The rain did not let up and within an hour, the street outside my house was flooded. It made me think of the rainstorms in Brazil except that this one went on much longer and the public drainage system was even worse, if you can believe that. Turns out it was the worst storm in 130 years.
Today, the sky is the bluest I have ever seen here and it has lasted all day, no smog usurping the heavens with the onslaught of daily traffic and industry. It is the kind of day that postcard photographers grab their lenses and climb suspension bridges to capture the views. A few white puffy clouds dot the sky and there is a light breeze. It is not abominably hot. I could even see the new Darth Vader tower from across the river.
“It is a shining day,” V3 said to me as we drove home from the flower market, the fragrance of white ginger blossoms making the air even sweeter. Indeed.