Vignette

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“It was getting a little dark and the sky was orange in the twilight. In the islet’s guard house we sat on the edge of the wooden floor, facing the sea. We let our legs hang loosely, tracing the water underneath with our feet going in circles, immersed up to the ankles; feeling the tide coming in, heaving, the water slowly getting cold. Then, later on, we heard something approach fast from the forest. From the right side of the post we saw the rain come towards us, grazing the hills, creating millions of miniscule ripples on the surface of the saltwater lake below it with a cool, racing sound. It pitter-pattered at first contact, then it rushed at once and the islet in front of us became hazy, so we couldn’t really tell if the sun had already began to dip in yonder, over the ocean. Our faces became moistened with the draft. We got up and moved back to the dining table behind us. We couldn’t see clearly beyond the open walls and the veranda was now heavily covered with rainfall curtains that came pouring down with force. The rain pounded harder and we couldn’t make out what we were trying to say to each other. I sat back on this wobbly chair while my wife made us coffee. We relaxed and listened to the cool sound of it. She paused and cried for no reason. The rain just makes her lonely.”

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