Thursday

I don't talk all that much about the weather anymore. Where I grew up it rained during springs and early summers, was dry late summers and winters. But I remember taking note of lengthy droughts when it should normally have been raining. I grew up with people who complained about droughts. They complained when it rained, too. I never complained about rain. This year's rainy season, in Vietnam, has grown so familiar that it's faded into the background. I rarely get caught in the rain, even though it happens several times each day. Last year, we arrived in Hồ Chí Minh City during the end of an unnaturally lengthy monsoon season, as I understand it. By November, it was raining only once a day, if that. That seemed like a lot, but it wasn't. As I type this, another storm is blowing up outside. It only stopped raining three hours ago. The constant cycle of humidity-bluster-humidity outside is misleadingly convalescent. It's as if the city's fever breaks several times a day; but this patient never heals. If I sound tired of this, I don’t mean to. I love it: whenever I notice the sky darkening in gradient stripes of gray clouds which then blur together into another forty-minute torrent, I stare out the windows or walk outside. But I don’t always notice anymore. It's the reason I don't mention it more often. Rest assured it’s rained nearly every day since May, whether I've mentioned it or not. It's only similar to my previous experiences in the indelibility of its absence. I still clearly remember Thursday, August twenty-eighth. Can you? The sky was deep blue that day, breezeless, puffy white clouds drifted aimlessly. It was so clear I could see the stars that night. It didn't rain all day. [Cavin]