It's raining… Llamas…

Today is Sunday, the 18th of August 2019.

It is raining. It is no hard rain just fine and tiny drops more like fog. Can I say it is fogging? It is warm rain, warm and soft summer rain.

The llama and I are chilling on a bench underneath the wild grapewines on the roof terrace of the appartment bulding on 666 Whitaker Lane. Our sunshade has become an umbrella now.

Everything is calm. Only the surfaces of the two stoney pools are disturbed by the raindrops with greater ripples from time to time that must be caused by the twelve or thirteen goldfish that live in the pools and seem to be coming up for air from time to time.

'I haven't seen them fish in while', the llama says. 'Do you think they are still alive in all that mud?'

Fish do not come up for air, comes to my mind. And the llama is right. I caught them goldfish out of the pools some time ago and threw the ones that were still alive into the Hudson river near Bromford Bridge. No more feeding fish for us and our visitors.

'I like the sound of raindrops falling on leaves and stone', the llama continues looking up to the grey and still bright sky. 'I like the smell of wet soil. It reminds me of my home and the daily rain showers in the African rain forests. We the members of the jungle llama family like rain and its' fresh and cleaning humidity. Can you hear the call of the jubjub bird and the screams of the little orange mandarine monkeys?'

All I can hear right now is the sound of the traffic in Bromford's street fifteen storeys underneath our feet. And since when are llamas jungle animals?

'Kylie is calling from Carlingford', the llama says.

'Oh', I ask, 'is she on another trip again? So soon?'

'No', the llama says, 'she just went out of money.'

I shake my head.

'Looks like it's talk-non-sense-to-llamas time again', I say inhaling deep the freshness of the summer rain.