Drizzle

Titela Durnea
Mioara had been fiery since she was young. She was a real charmer, and all the lads in the village twirled her in the hora on Sundays. Her mother's pleas were in vain as she urged Mioara: You gotta stop being so stormy, my child. Find yourself a tender fella to rely on, \'cause that's how you'll find joy in sharin' a life together. Like the autumn rain, gentle and steady. But Mioara had other plans. She set her eyes on the wildest lad in the village. Now she's raising her offspring alone. She works her fingers to the bone to put a little something on the table. But she's still fond of the storms, and the sun that follows, for it soothes her heart.

Denisse Oana Rădoi
It was raining on my first day of work in England. The steady drizzle felt like a relentless assault. I carried bags of soil, hacked them open with my hands and planted seedlings in them with damp roots. I had mud in my lashes. While my energetic colleagues planted dozens of rows, I could barely manage one. The harvest came after three months, with entire fields of strawberries awaiting their pickers. Today you will reap what you've sown, we were told during the distribution of the parcels. And I went home with a big bouquet of lilies.
 
 Viorel Spinu
I miss dancing in the rain so much. Let it rain, child, otherwise corn won't grow, said my granny many years ago. Nowadays, corn no longer grows when it rains. There is no corn. It's only death now. The rain brings death. The rain melts the skin. We have rain guards. They have whistles. We now live near caves where only rocks provide us shelter. It's a smoking rain, said my granny many years ago. There is smoking rain now too. The rain always comes with a burning green smoke. The rain brings death.

(Translated by Alin Sescu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)