I like the look in their eyes as they run, frightened, back home. I enjoy that sound of rustling leaves on the ground, that mass of grey above my head. I relish more than anything that special wind that blows right before it rains.
Even drivers hurry, despite the roof over their heads and the swipes on their windshield. Protected under a huge oak tree, I take my time to ponder over that vision. Rain in most civilisations means life, but here everyone wishes they had an umbrella.