Rain, rain, rain …

A very grumpy and ill-mannered rain weather has put its grey bottom on the Belgrade area.

When the rain comes
They run and hide their heads
They might as well be dead
When the rain comes

The people on the streets bow their heads for the rain clouds above, hiding under umbrellas or inside the hoods of their jackets. But I feel defiant tonight and try to walk with my chin up and my back straight.

Let the stormy clouds chase
everyone from the place.
Come on with your rain,
I’ve got a smile on my face.

Perhaps not smiling. Rather scowling. Feeling strangely odd and out of place on the slippery slabs of Knez Mihailova. Watching the souvenir salesmen struggle to keep their products dry and the relief of the bored shopkeepers in the fancy boutiques when they can close at the stroke of eight.

O bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits !
Pour un coeur qui s’ennuie,
O le chant de la pluie !

Oh, Belgrade – how I miss your lovely smile!


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