The rain comes every day. Sometimes it pitter patters on the church's tin roof in the early afternoon as we wrap up class; other times it waits to explode after dark in the shadows when it becomes nothing more than a great noise, its shape filled by imagination as we toss and turn on our beds, mats, floors. It's one of my favorite times of day - the heat breaks, the world slows down, the mind takes time to rest. Sometimes we play in it - filling buckets to toss on one another, pushing our friends under the runoff from the gutters. We always put out extra containers - bowls and basins and bins - a habit, I suppose, from before the well was installed this summer and rain water had to last through the dry season. Which is fast approaching, I often remind myself. Very soon the rain will cease and the sun will reign supreme over the afternoon, its heat lingering well into the night. The green of the fields will disappear as rice is harvested and little brown shoots take their place. Perhaps the electricity may go out less frequently (that, at least, would be a welcomed blessing). Until then, though, I savor every drop.