In daylight hours, he liked to stand on the veranda and watch the rain, a wall of it so solid it seemed to fly upwards as well as down. In daylight it was beautiful – as long as you didn’t have to go out in it – but during the hours of darkness the torrent closed the world down, masked all other noises: there was nothing but rain.
A meditation on life and death, on the value of living, on the burdens we all carry following sometimes horrendous errors of judgment, and on the fears that the night – and the rain – cannot mask... So much of our lives are ultimately unknowable, and the truly good never seem to think that they are good enough.