It is indeed a time of drought - both outside and inside, literally and figuratively, physically and spiritually. This is a period of a dry spell, when the horizon is a mirage, the air unmoving, the ground arid. Nothing is happening. Time is the only thing that moves.
Perhaps it's always this way. When you've completely accepted the scheme of things, and you realize that life's great design is to leave you out of everything in it that's exciting and gratifying, you look at your own life and you realize how gray and how drab it actually is. And you don't even care. When you've let go of all your cherished fantasies, all your childish hopes, all your illusions of excitement and beauty and dreams of requited affections. You just acquiesce to the gentle, to and fro motions of your existence, and feel absolutely nothing. No pain, no sorrow, no anger. Just nothing.
El nino for la nina. It's a time of drought. And you don't even feel the scorching heat. Neither do you even dream of rain.
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