Those Window-Cleaning Guys.

I was sitting at my desk yesterday. Type type type-ing away.

And it started raining.

Out the panoramic windows, the 46 degree summer sun wilted a bit in that sudden shower. My lips curved into a smile at the sight of rivulets undulating down the panes. The cars on Sheikh Zayed Road seemed to be swimming through vertical rivers.

I love the rain. I love the way the droplets fall on my head and find their way to my scalp, leaving it tingling. I love the way it gets in my toes. I don't care if it's dirty rianwater: I love the way it feels on my tongue. I love the way it makes the sand smell all musky. I lvoe the grass as it shines a newly green afterwards. I loved the rainbows.

Sitting at my desk yesterday ... on a swivel chair, in an airconditioned office, I felt all those things at once. The tingling of my scalp, the wetness of my toes, the unhygeinic tanginess on my tongue, the musky sand, the newly grass and the rainbow. All at once. All on my desk.

The 40-second shower turned an abyssmal office day into a magical world of sensory pleasures.

It nevr rains in Dubai in June though, does it? Of course I know it wasn't rain. It was just Those Window-Cleaning Guys.

But when they're out of my line of sight, why can't I pretend that they're not a pair of nimble Pinoys? Why can't they be mighty gods of rain? Why can't the soapy, sud-ly spurts be those of refreshing rain?

I say they can. They can all be what I wish them to be.

So I leaned back and watched the cars swim through vertical rivers and envied myself my little luxury on their behalf.

And today, the window panes were very, very clean.

I love Those Window-Cleaning Guys.