La Lluvia - an anthology

one

from the dark grey clouds hovering in the sky, a soft shower of raindrops descend to the ground.

the gentle sprinkles of water splash over concrete and stone, dripping off blades of grass as they soak into the dirt. it starts off slow and small, tickling like a feather, before pronouncing their displaced rhythms all at once in harsh slaps on the earth, dulled into a prolonged unified noise--a lulling ambience that brings a wash of calm--similar to a white noise on a television, but not quite. colourful umbrellas were extracted from purses and briefcases, but several of them had no such thing in their possession. to them, it brings an opportunity--a chance to explore and express, a privilege to experiment from excitement.

in a nearby bar, a photographer stares at a photo in his gallery and sighs in defeat. no matter how blue the sky could get on a beautiful summer's day, it lacked depth--it lacked emotion. he turned down another foreign drink offered to him with a shake of his head, only to catch sight of the droplets clinging onto the glass windows of the bar.

there were so few, but wherever they hit, they glistened like diamonds under the glow of the streetlights, clear even against the glass. he glanced once at the 40 mm lens on his camera, and then at the crystalline water trickling down the nearest windowpane. beyond the glass, he could see more of them--close to him, a distance away...they were everywhere.

a foreground, and a backdrop, all captured in one shot.

the next day, a large crowd of people huddle around his latest shot, gloss printed in black and white framed in 8 by 10. he looks at the scene, then smiles to himself.

who knew that rain could make such beautiful art?