It's raining softly through the night. The rain falls swiftly. Shot, like silver needles from the sky. Striking prostrate figures, on the ground. Splattering off rigid surfaces in the dark. Spilling over and across the sloping roofs. Rain falling with frenzied insistence. Water running alongside the eaves. Tumbling into drainpipes. Rushing downwards. Spurting to the ground. Swirling around stones. Eddying through the metal bars of grates. Flowing quietly in the eroded sluits. Soundlessly deepening a myriad of tiny lines etched into the ground. Throughout the night. All night. A steady drizzle hovering opaquely in space.
Sam, Agnes, The Dove, Kunapipi, 7(2), 1985.