We haven't had a tiny drip drop of rain in 117 days, I read this morning. With temperatures near 35 Celsius/95 Fahrenheit and relative humidity around 15% BrasÃlia is parched. Not yet record-breaking, 2020 is currently in 8th position in historical records for the length of the dry season with predictions that it could maybe rain just a little bit on the 22nd. There is a fine dust layered everywhere on everything. It makes you feel lethargic and a bit slow. This is a normal part of the seasonal changes here, and it really isn't hotter or drier than some of the arid prairie in Wyoming or deserts of Arizona where I have spent time. However, as my skin becomes flaky and cracked and I constantly gulp down liters of water, I have to admit that a bit of rain would be nice.
A friend and proud BrasÃliense Nicolas Behr published a bilingual collection of poems worth a read if you'd like to understand our home town. Here's a .pdf in an online version: It Will Never Rain Again.
Until it rains, I think I will just settle into some poetry, brew a cup of strong, Brazilian coffee, and put some music on in the background from a place where it surely must be raining.
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