Things I've Forgotten About Monsoon

Humidity is thick.  

Overheated air is thick.  

Thick air is hard to breathe.  It makes its presence known as you're walking to the only tree shaded spot left at the grocery store.

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The trees love the extra moisture in the air.  Their pods are dropping.  Their leaves are greener.  But it cannot be said that they are thriving.  These intense, ten minute rainstorms don't penetrate deep into the soil, the way a long, slow soak can do.

It can be raining in the back yard and not in the front.  

The house can be in the eye of the storm; I can watch it rain on the mountains while I sit in the sunshine.

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The sunsets are uniformly fabulous.  They are accented by dozens of bats feasting on dozens of flying insect swarms.  

It's more fun to watch it from inside.  Being dive bombed by bats is even less fun than being consumed by infinitely small beasties.

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I can't wait until the afternoon do do my daily swim.  By 2:30 this afternoon the clouds were gathering and one very loud and close round of thunder convinced me that I was not going to get a safe swim.

Mornings are good, though.  It's my preferred time of day for exercise, the sun is on the other side of the house and so isn't baking the pool, and I can shower off the chlorine before I start my day.  

It's nice of monsoon to encourage me to do what I like to do.

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