Entre Deux Mers

VI

The shrill shrieks of the cockatoos as they departed rapidly from the gigantic river gums should have been the first warning of what was to come. The immense flock of at least 100 birds fled rapidly in a vast cloud of white feathers, deafening all that lay in their wake. The harsh rain on the canvas now a stark contrast to the gentle pitter patter from earlier that was lulling me to sleep. Water drains vehemently from the awning as the canvas folds under the weight of the rain. Heavy droplets line the margins awaiting their turn, dripping delicately until inevitably they are engulfed by the stream flowing off the tent. The strong gusts of wind are unnerving and rock the tent with great ease. The canvas of the window awnings billow in its path and strain under its ferocity. It's not yet half six in the evening, but an immense darkness has rolled in off the mountain to the west. The river just to the east of camp is now running with greater ease and vigour than before. Little white caps dot the water as the river and rain collide. Despite the harsh summer sun that has beat down over this land the last few months the grass already appears significantly lusher and sports a more vibrant green hue. It's astonishing the power rain can have in transforming a landscape. As I peek through the cracked window, I lay in awe of the intensity of the weather I find myself in. Only moments ago I sat outside on my collapsible chair soaking in the summer sun and suffocating in the humidity. With the clouds still white in the sky it began to spit gently and I moved myself undercover and soaked in the delicate melody of the rain drops. A flash of lighting nearby shattered the tranquility and beckoned the oncoming downpour. With great haste I found myself stuffing my arms with all my belongings that lay outside and haphazardly throwing them into my car before retreating fervently to the tent to wait out the storm. I was ready to ride it out however long it may take. I cracked the windows slightly as the air trapped inside the tent was stifling. With my book and head torch nestled safely away from the
windows, I nestled into the sleeping bag beneath me and got myself comfortable before sliding the torch onto my forehead.With careful movements I pulled my book delicately out of it's protective plastic sleeve and open it up to the last page I was reading. With a dramatic sigh, I resign myself comfortably into my pillow and immerse myself into the story. It's only now, an hour later, as I lay on my inflatable mattress that I realise the screeching of the cockatoos has returned. The worst of the storm has passed and the rain has returned to the gentle pitter that I so enjoy. Life outside has reemerged, and with dusk approaching, the cicadas have begun to sing, calling the evening to a close.