The Minister of Rain

Beni’s shout roused the children like a siren. Within seconds, as if they had practiced this scenario daily, the children abandoned whatever they were doing and stampeded to the door. Cards were left on tables, orphaned dolls and cars littered the floor, the TV screen flashed with pictures unseen by any eye and the dress up nook’s floor was paved with vibrant dresses, like puddles of colour.

Gadi ran as fast as he could, pushed some of the girls who were dawdling by the door and went outside, where a row of children had already formed along the lawn, their eyes raised to the gray sky. His nostrils widened as the familiar, much pined for scent flooded his senses. Hayoreh. The first rain. He felt a single drop fall on his cheek and then heard the long awaited tapping sound multiplying as more drops fell on the sidewalk and dry leaves scattered on it. Blades of grass jerked and bobbed their heads while the dry leaves bounded on the parched earth. The sky grew darker and Gadi examined the clouds — their gray hue, their size and how far back they stretched into the horizon.