Blowing Rain

Sometimes when I kiss my daughter goodnight she asks me to tell her a story ‘not from a book Mum, from your head’. So I told her the dream I had recently.

A heavy down pour of rain woke me during the night, I went into the garden, stood in the pouring rain and waited. My three children slowly appeared and stood with me none of us spoke but we acknowledged each other with our eyes and held hands. Together we filled our lungs with cold night air raised our heads and blew in unison, we repeated this again and again in rhythm with each other all facing the same direction. The rain began to ease and without speaking we returned to bed. 

In the morning the dream had evaporated, I woke up the kids and on opening the curtains I realised it had rained heavily during the night. My 14 year old son wandered into the kitchen saying “the rain woke me when it was still dark, didn’t it wake you?” “Oh… I’m not sure, maybe”, I replied. The dream drifted back to me as I remembered the reason why we were blowing the rain, we were sending it to Somalia. If only it was that easy.

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