Ireland under rain.

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The sun is still a few hours away from rising and the soft refreshing rain that's beating down on Larne reminds me that life is sweet and it's for living. I have the bedroom window thrown open so that I can hear the waters of the heavy downpour bounce off the roof and gurgle in the drains. The open window draws in cold air that flows around the room and my heart is further gladdened. The wet garden smells good. It's got me thinking back to sheltering from heavy, persistent rain in a pine forest outside Sarajevo, soaked to the skin with water and joy. On open ground just clear of the tree line a ramshackle hut materialised when the mist lifted late in the afternoon. Smoke was rising from the chimney, blending with the mist, and soon I was standing in front of a meagre fire, wrapped in a smelly blanket while my clothes hung over some chairs to dry. Bread and vegetables were shared as was wine. By morning my clothes were still damp and my neck was stiff from sleeping awkwardly in a chair. Out on the road I got a lift into the city and on to Greece where spring was arriving.