Plum rain

A change of weather, Plum rain season. But the morning's not so bad, possibly the last chance for a week or so to get up the hills, quick coffee, a brief return having realised I'd forgotten my mask, again. Streets are busy, the traffic chaotic, a few near misses, offering advice and perceptions cloaked in profanity to a couple of drivers, raising a smile from a fellow cyclist. City life I suppose. At the bike stand my card refuses to scan, changing route just in case I can't get a bike home. Two days of rain, too muddy to walk over to graveyard hill. On the approach to the stairs a fine drizzle, the realisation that I've forgotten my umbrella, maybe I should have had that third coffee...

On the mountain an Australian accent from along the path, out of sight. “...the weather forecast's a bit more pessimistic than it needs to be...”
"Oh shit,” I think to myself, “the local weather god's not going to like that.”

And sure enough, within a couple of minutes, the skies open, pelting rain rattling from the leaves, scurrying down towards the cat temple, a good mile from the nearest bike stand with a card that only seems to work sporadically. Arriving I find that the card has, indeed, given up, leaving a wander back through streets and alleys clothed with a variation of showers and downpours. But the rain's warm again, raising a smile as I recall that I've lived in flats where this would constitute luxury, water pressure and heat combined, almost a myth once upon a time...


Plum rains

On Xipu road from the southern capital,
the fourth month ripening yellow plums.
Deep and clear the great river departs,
darkening where faint rains come.
Sparsely thatched roofs are easily soaked,
thick clouds and fog hardly dispersing.
All day long the water dragons rejoice;
swells surge into whirlpools, drift along the banks.

Tu Fu (712 - 770)



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Nz9t_4XLcc