Except in times of drought, rain (at home) is little more than headlights and wipers.
Afoot in these hill towns, after the eclectic weekly market (What fun!), it is so much more:
- a heavy bag of groceries in each hand, with no remainder for the umbrella, on the trek back from the Euro Spin (grocery)
- a sudden burst of wind, throwing open a bathroom window and a terrace door, with plenty of rain along for the ride
- one thunderous clap of thunder after another after another (if you will forgive the redundant measures of frequency and force)
- double sheets of rain, which eerily shroud the hillside above our terrace in blankets of fog
That’s one way to take a shower, I guess. But you’re in Italy, so how bad can it be?
Right, you are! Only a shower it was, and an Italian one to boot! (I was mostly thinking of our enforced independence from the car, and the difference in awareness that makes.)