This morning the Ministry of Weather announced sunshine, so we left our umbrellas at home out of respect.
By ten it was raining so hard the gutters sang. The radio said: Sunny, with a chance of gratitude. A man on the bus said it is raining, and everyone moved away from him as if he had coughed.
At the office we dried our shirts under the desk fans and spoke about the beautiful day. My manager said the light was golden. Water was dripping from his eyebrows into his tea. I agreed. The light was very golden.
In the afternoon a river came down our street carrying a goat, a plastic chair and the lid of a cooking pot. The television showed old footage of children playing in a dry park. The anchor wore sunglasses indoors to show loyalty.
My grandmother, who is too old to be afraid, stood on the balcony and opened her hands to the sky and laughed. The neighbours closed their curtains. Later, a young officer came to ask her about her views on the climate. She offered him a towel. He took it, which is how I know there is still hope.
Tonight the Ministry issued a correction. There had been no rain. There had been a temporary excess of public moisture, caused by foreign clouds. Tomorrow will be sunny.
I am writing this on the roof, where my house used to be. The stars are out. I check the radio first, before I let myself enjoy them.
