The sky spat on me tonight as I stood in the street awaiting the approaching storm. For an hour the wind had been picking up, blowing the banana leaves violently against the house instead of the normal quiet breeze wandering through the streets of the muuban. Tonight even the dogs are silent, in anticipation of what this rainstorm will bring. I love waiting for storms: watching the light show in the distance, and listening for the sky’s low rumble in response. The leaves tear through the air in their own miniature tornadoes, leaving tree branches lonely. And then the rain finally comes—after the long build up. The clouds let loose in slow increments at first, teasing the thirsty ground. Then it comes in torrents, beautifully abandoning itself to be taken into the earth, to make plants grow, to pour through mountain waterfalls, to provide for the thirsting children who drift in the streets, without a home.
Does it know of all it will accomplish as it falls on the city tonight?
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