Asakiyume mita

Yesterday it did end up raining--nice and dramatically--and we're glad, because it's been dry.

Earlier in the day, though, when it was still hot and sunny, and I was preparing to go for a run, an elderly couple walked by and commented on the how dry it's been, and we mused together on whether rain would really come:

Wife: "How come Holyoke gets a thunderstorm and we don't get nothing??"

Wife again (darkly): I heard the Quabbin holds onto it.

(The Quabbin, for those who don't know, is a massive reservoir that our town borders on and that provides the drinking water for the greater Boston area.)

Me (confused): Well... if the rain ever falls, I guess it does.

Wife (emphatically): No. It never lets it go.

Me (internally): Far be it from me to venture any opinions on your meteorological views, ma'am

Me (aloud, cautiously): Yeah... I don't really know how it works.

I shared this story on Twitter, and one of my pals there shared this music with me, "Ghosts of Quabbin." It starts with frogsong but gets good and headbangy.

...

Have a broken-pavement crocodile.