• Chloe Roweth

Water

Water is desire. A farm kid learns to do without, or to make-do with an inch in the bottom of the bath, and as oldest kid - last in. Water recedes, more mud showing, sun-dried cracking, drinking water comes on a truck, sheep die, sheep die again - and again… And then - rain comes. It’s a well-established pattern. Mind you - drinking tank water spoils you for life, and every town tap is forever disappointing. I drink water - tap or tank - by the gallon. It’s my tonic. I find myself wondering if it was the scarcity as a kid that makes me knock it down in such quantities now. Hard - dry, soft - wet… Life’s like that. Wet times are home times. Braving the driveway after decent rain is a short-lived adventure. Rain makes inside work less edgy. Rain is a writer’s friend. So now, as a big grown-up village kid writer, I’m as happy as ever to see the rain. I still check the dams, I still think of the sheep, and I still love the rain… just not on the first day of a Test Match. I have limits.

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