Now I know what the rainy season in Leon is about, as well as why the sidewalks here resemble childrens playgrounds.  We had our first real rain last night.  The heavens opened after an hour of incredible lightening, and the world stopped.  I was at a Salsa Rueda (Cuban style of salsa where you dance in a circle and swap partners) workshop that my friends Sterling organized, and the noise of the rain on the tin roof choked out the music.  We continued for the last fifteen minutes of class, cranked up the volume, and then sat around and waited for almost an hour for taxis to come and pick everyone up. I was of course filled with that absurd energy I get from electrical storms and had to let it out by doing handstands.   Luckily, a friend with a pickup truck offered to take some of us out to eat, and we drove through lakes in the city; some streets were so filled with rushing water that even parts of the foot-high sidewalk were covered.

When I got back to my house two hours later it was still raining.  Again, I was struck by the micro-climate created by the nursery and abundance of trees in our yard.  I didn’t have to wade through puddles, instead the water had run down the gentle slope or absorbed into the root systems, and it was COOL.  While taking the time to dash through the raindrops and right some potted plants that had been blown over, I nearly tripped over a huge 8 inch frog.  Unlike any peepers, these enormous frogs, which have recently been accompanying me in my early breakfasts in the patio, sing long melodious twangy chords. It was by far the loudest chorus of frogs I have ever heard had lull me off to sleep.