Rain on the roof

We live in a house that's no less than 150 years old. Yet the roof of the western wing that we occupy was recently done by one of the previous occupants. And while the original part of the house remains well lit and airy, our part was poorly ventilated and dark, till we forcibly modified it to make way for some air and light.

Yesterday was the first time this season we decided to put on the air conditioner for the night (With better air circulation we could have perhaps managed longer. The days are pleasant when the doors and windows are wide ajar, and the evenings outside still have a slight nip in the air.)

I woke up with a start to the sound of water. My worst nightmare was a burst pipe drenching 'precious' somethings somewhere. (And the house has had enough of these to thank my stars amongst others for children saved from a burst geyser pipe not once but twice, a short-circuit that could have well been a full blown fire.) 

A groggy me opened the door of the nearest ante-room to find big drops of rain beating hard against the parched earth. It was the sound of the rain on the roof that woke me up in the first place. 

As I quickly tried to close the window shutters, I couldn't bring it upon myself to do the same. I found myself awash with the fragrance of dry earth soaking its soul to the pelting rain. In that sleepy moment, I realized the meaning of PETRICHOR. In that dazed instant, I  realized why it was the most expensive itr. Something tells me it's the way our souls connect at the end of separations. 

And then the clock told me it is five in the morning, that my colicky baby allowed me to sleep only an hour before, that my phone is still in wind-down-mode and I can't seize the moment except in thoughts, and that I must let it roll over like a dream and get some sleep before my daughter's online class begins in a couple of hours. There's only as much for the life we live but so much more for the ones we LOVE.