Writing about rain, storm


This morning, I’ve woken to a storm. Or may be I actually woke to the threat of one. Dark skies, distant rumbles, an occasional streak over the trees far away. The wind came through the open windows and made billowing sails of my red curtains.

And then it came, the angry storm, in drops as big as my palm, the gale carrying them almost parallel to the ground. I shut down all doors and windows and retreated behind my desk. It has been raining for a quarter of an hour now, and I cannot see much beyond the hazy outlines of nearby houses. The roads and the cars that must be speeding down them are invisible. I can see yellow lights in windows at 8 am.

Another new day.

Strange how nature sometimes decides to reflect the landscape within you. Think I will go stand outside on my balcony, let the shower cool my spirit.

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