Usually, I write about the first rains. Then, I write about the next significant rains. The other ones in between are met with my deepest gratitude but that's it.
Today, it rained a second time here. Plump, cold drops. Thick, mousse-moist winds. Tree-tops that jangled and cavorted in bunches of yellow flowers, orange buds, pink blooms, and scarlet hibiscus. There were trembling, green, lush leaves too. There was a blanket of hopeful grey in the sky. There was the promise of deep, drenched mud on the ground.
And from the terrace I saw it all and wondered, "How do you get so stunning?"
The world stayed quiet. And the rain came down.
Today, it rained a second time here. Plump, cold drops. Thick, mousse-moist winds. Tree-tops that jangled and cavorted in bunches of yellow flowers, orange buds, pink blooms, and scarlet hibiscus. There were trembling, green, lush leaves too. There was a blanket of hopeful grey in the sky. There was the promise of deep, drenched mud on the ground.
And from the terrace I saw it all and wondered, "How do you get so stunning?"
The world stayed quiet. And the rain came down.
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