The rain is pouring
I can hear it hitting
the glass window,
Individual shots almost,
Sounding like a beautiful barrage of gunfire.
The lights on the hillside
Twinkle- the rainfall’s effect.
The buildings growing all the way up
And all the way down the hillside,
Now being barraged by the rainfall as well.
I imagine there are a few more in the town
Sitting beside their window,
Warm cup of tea in hand,
Looking out towards Nature’s fury/beauty,
Like me.
I open the window, as the rain pauses
For a few seconds,
and feel the wind whipping,
Almost into my face,
Bringing with it the smell
Of rain,
Of earth,
Of purity,
Of revival, almost.
There’s a bamboo grove
Outside my window, too.
Shoots rising maybe 50 feet.
I can see the brilliant green of the leaves,
Brilliant even in the
Waning light of the evening,
And shining and dripping
With the rain.
A sudden burst of wind erupts
And I hear a crack,
And I can now see one
Of the many bamboo shoots
Now bending, cracked,
Like a boxer hit below the belt.
The lightning starts up
The flash of light,
Unlike anything else in the world.
The flashes
Illuminating
If only for a moment,
The leaves of the bamboo shoots,
The faraway houses perched on the hill,
The clouds pouring out their anger,
Even the drops of water frozen in air
If only for a moment.
The lightning, truly,
Unlike anything else.
The stars twinkle too
Amid the clouds
And the rain
And the movement of the
Heavenly bodies.
It’s a beautiful sight,
And a beautiful moment.
The warm cup I hold
The sound of the rain on my window
The bamboo shoots cracked and bent
The clouds high up there
The stars even higher up there
The pure scent of the wind
The homes with twinkling lights
And of course, the lightning
That illuminates everything
If only for a moment.
What a beautiful storm.
afascinationwiththewrittenword 