The pheasant coucal empties his water bottle…
Sundry other birds join the pheasant. A dog barks, signalling the canine chorus.
Unless…it’s raining. In which case, all I hear is the rain drumming on the roof, the slapping of palms against each other and the house.The wind, whooshing, roaring along the narrow path behind the house. The Niagara of water pouring from the roof, rushing along driveway, path, gutter.
And what might others hear? Me, cursing the fact that this house does not have collection tanks. And cursing (much louder, now!) the Local Authority for not making water collection mandatory.
Politicians are scrambling to slam shut the metaphoric stable door. A tad late, fellas!
In a country of such fickle climate, you’d think the most precious commodity (and, yes, it IS viewed as a commodity and as such, attracts a dollar value) would rate higher on the political scale than weaponry.
You’d be wrong.