Stories About the Rain, Aaron Redfern [finding audrey txt] 📗

I remember her best as a brightness: a splash of amber against the rain, wet and blurred, her hair pulled up in the imagined style of a dead people. It always rains on Papho, drip-mists and drobbles taking turns like gentle rocking waves, a pulse that becomes a way of life, rising in crescendo to the terror of the summer monsoons. They say that the new natives have a hundred different words for rain, but the truth is simply that they have many ways of expressing what they feel.