Yesterday the summer ended in Madrid. There were several torrential rain storms – proper “vertical rain” soldiering down – during the afternoon and evening, and then the worst hail storm I’ve seen in years which started around 1:00 a.m.
The report in El Mundo is as good a write-up of it as I can find, I think, so I’ll not bother making my own comments, but move swiftly on to a poem. Not written about last night, but brought to mind by the weather: again, it had been a dry period and the city drains just can’t cope with the sudden change.
The cambered road has tipped
the rain to flood. Storm drains,
stuffed with eighteen months
of drought and dust, refuse
the pooling swirls,
regurgitating summer trash.
Umbrellas rag and writhe
against the husking wind
till fragile skins are shed,
while underfoot, the yellowing leaves
banana-trap unwary hurriers-by.