Diamonds

Diamonds

The heavens opened during a particularly christmas-cosy
meeting after school. A skin of thick, warm, July rain covered
everything and Spencer and I were soon wet through as we
strode around town, exchanging baby clothes for Bethan. Five

hours passed without let-up. My clothes, out on the maiden,
seemed to drink deeper and deeper the moisture until no more
could be guzzled and the hot, fat, drops bounced, splat, on the
vivid, soaking, roasting enamel blue of my wringing shirt. Harry

circled and scowled, crossing his legs, wishing with all his
little
heart for it to stop, just long enough for the dash, the crouch,
the scrape and then back to the cushions. By ten the lashing
had become invisible in the darkness and I climbed onto the

roof to steal some air. In the comfort of the street lamp the
rain-
drops welded, fizzing white, as if an oceanographer's torch had
lit
plankton, the bubble boiling with gleaming life, sharp splinters of
wet
buzzed and flashed like a cloud of dripping crystal gnats. Like
diamonds.