The Sound of Rain

I often return to Laos during the rainy season. The roads become muddier and travel less predictable, but the mountains turn a deeper shade of green.

One afternoon, I was walking through the village when the rain arrived without warning. We hurried to the nearest house, where the owner welcomed us inside to wait for it to pass.

She sat me down beside the fire, handed me freshly cooked corn, and carried on with her afternoon as rain drummed against the thatched roof.

I remember looking out through the doorway, watching the village disappear behind the downpour.

It struck me how quickly a stranger could be made to feel at home in a place so unfamiliar.