Waiting for Rain
On every side of it the moors open out, low, dark and treeless, edged with the steely light of dawn. The once dripping wilderness, slashed by becks and noisy with waterfalls, has become an arid desert hovering on the edge of ignition.
The deep crater that was the reservoir oozes mud and sticky pools. The retaining walls, once hidden beneath the water, stare like the hull of a beached ship. A vast puddle lurks in the centre of the basin, draining slowly away.
Here, once and for all, is the truth of the matter.
All along she has known that she would come to this place in the end. Here there is no escape, no shelter. Merciless dawn is rising. Evaporation will be almost immediate.
Deep in the heather she turns onto her back, her face to the sky. Somewhere in the distance she can hear thunder. But the sky is bright, hard, brilliantly blue, and holds no promise of rain.
“Waiting for Rain” first appeared in Writing Women.
Copyright © 2003 by Tamar Yellin.
