forecast calls for.... rain?

After an afternoon surrounded by a half dozen volunteers, I am claustrophobic, slightly misanthropic, and looking for a way to hide. I escape from the climate controlled computer lab and retreat to the main room. It is unventilated, but four times as spacious and quietly refreshing. Under the outer door glows the promise of a storm: yellow-green light pouring into the dark classroom. My fingers push the door, just barely, and the wind catches it, tugs it open as a thunderclap rumbles overhead. It is raining.

Chalk it up to global warming, disoriented weather patterns, or larium-induced delusions, but precipitation has graced Atar skies all month. I used to measure my service with the rain: no, my kids performed a play just after the April rain. Or, site visit ended just after that one drizzle in September. Recent precipitation has caught me, pleasantly, off guard. Now, I marvel at the darkening clouds and struggle to remember a time when rain just did not fall here. Meanwhile, the locals cower in fear, fret under overhangs, and wish for a drier climate.

A soft mist cools my face as I step out the swinging metal door. The concrete wall has been baking in the sun all day; I lean against it and absorb the warmth, uncomfortable but comforting, like a rumbling dryer on a summer day. Over the wall, I see a young, shaved head climb to the roof. He sneaks a glance at me, then ducks out of sight. Cowering in fear, but not from the rain. Casually, I turn my head to the street, pretending not to notice his curious peeping from the roof. Hiding or not, we can enjoy this moment together.