I love the presence of peak hour summer rain. When you’re in the thick of the city, buskers’ colourful ukeles and mournful violins mingling with the rush of passing traffic. Pigeons bobbing their short little necks at scraps underfoot, and the darkening day just warm enough for the cafes not to light their beacons. Commuters are gathering at streetlights crossing as one to get to the train station, preoccupied with their own little worlds, waiting to get home from a day at the office. A suited-up bottle blonde here, a punk in full chains and piercings sitting on a bench – I always wonder how they manage to get their hair to stand so high and straight? – a stressed businessman conversing into his mobile phone. McDonalds’ is bustling, as always, and neon lights of the little pizza shops start to glow their fluorescent oranges and blues. A rhythmic ka-thunk, ka-thunk of trams rolling past, working overtime as they take another load of weary workers home. The ambience of released citizens in the humid air, freed once again from their monotonous nine to fives. Bright lights from the juice bar, clusters of happy people at street side tables, their happy chatter overshadowing the hugeness of the towering monoliths above. The gentle summer breeze, heralded by the subtle swaying of old oaks. A silver BMW speeds around the corner, sending an elongated honk of annoyance to the overtaking Ford. Ah, the city.

And then there are the raindrops, the big slow raindrops falling intermittently onto the asphalt pavement, until light grey becomes a darker, glistening black. The delicious feeling of warmth sliding down your bare arms, of lazy water stroking your sweaty face. Summer rain, when the fug-filled sky is hazy with lurid pink sunset and residue of noontime light, cool relief from an air thick and creamy as intangible cheesecake. Then I stand still on the sidewalk, while another horde of people pass me by, unaware of the magic moment I’ve struck upon, as precious and rare as gold. I stand in the open air, relishing a raindrop’s tender touch, knowing how lucky I am to be able to stand on a busy street catching God’s tears on my tongue. Feeling glad to be alive on this summer’s day, glad for the presence of peak hour summer rain.

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