Spring Rain

Although the sky is overcast, the air smells crisp and neat.

Without any warning, the rain began to fall — one drop, two drops, and then it came down pattering. Was it spring rain, or summer rain? At this time of year, it is easy to feel as though the sky and earth were ancient and endless.

Soon, someone set two wooden buckets under the eaves. The rain struck the roof tiles, gathered, and poured down — drip-drip, dong-dong — into the buckets.

Sitting beneath the eaves, behind the curtain of rain, I felt only coolness, and an extraordinary brightness.

All around was silence and stillness.

When the buckets were full, someone carried the water indoors and poured it into the water vat — sparing several trips of hauling water by shoulder pole.

Suddenly, all around grew lively and joyful: children had come — school was out. Sheltering under umbrellas, wearing rain boots, splashing through the puddles, they arrived chirping and chattering.

It must be spring rain, surely. Summer would bring muggy heat, not like this — fresh, comfortable, at ease.

From the house next door came the faint sound of loud voices. Oh — the adults were playing mahjong. Thanks to this rain, this weather, even the arguments at the gambling table seemed harmonious, even affectionate.

After the rain, it is just right for an outing in the countryside: along the riverbanks and the ridges between fields, pool after pool of green standing water. This water makes one want to trample through it, leap over it, play in it.

The air smells so sweet it seeps into the heart.