I just went for a walk in the rain. I realised that since I've lived Sydney, rain has gradually become an adversary. I'm happy it rains, but I hurry to be out of it and gripe when I get wet.

In Albury we were in drought most of the time. The rare winters when we had serious rain - where the river and creeks flooded and the hills turned green - were tremendously exciting. It was normal for us to go for walks in the rain. Sometimes we would go up into the bush, where the banks of clay would turn a vivid, unbelievable red, lush and slick, and the thin trunks of the young wattles would look purple in the wet. Other times we'd take shorter walks around the streets, but even then it would be beautiful - all colours more vivid - and we'd breathe in that wonderful smell.

The first rainfall of Summer would usually come in about February, after months of dry, baking heat. puppydogtail and I would go out and dance in it, shrieking and jumping, teenage dignity forgotten. The hard, crunchy brown grass would turn soft and soggy under feet toughened by running barefoot all Summer. Rain on dry grass had its own unique smell; a bit like baking bread.

I didn't walk far today - just the few blocks to Enmore Park - but I got completely, thoroughly, satisfyingly soaked. I waded through gutters (there was no other way to cross the road) and spun in circles in the empty park. A sister would have been nice, butI was happy with my own company. Now I'm sitting in my bathrobe with a cup of cocoa. The only downer is that I have to turn back to my essay. :(