The rain is here. Its misty presence over the sea, in the valleys and through the trees is a welcome sight. The birds look wet and bedraggled, yet perky and animated. Our garden, dripping jewels, is alive with promise. A circling kite, like a rain god weaving spells, cries out and fades in to the distance. A dishevelled man huddles under the bridge. For him the rain is not welcome.
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