White fire erupted through the dark vaults of tenacious heavens,
Blinding the earth with frenzied fury of a thousand suns,
War drums of thunder rolled above in menacing rhythm to a fearsome crescendo,
Then fell eerily silent. A silence so brittle. A silence the storm summons.
The flautist breeze that eased through vistas of dense eucalypti with hollow haunting notes
Had reared itself to demoniacal standards, shrieking in churlish throes.
Giant banyans cowered feverishly, riverside bulrushes swung in agony,
Whirlpools of sands and dry leaves dances in the air as the hurly-burly rose.
And then the earth arid tasted the first drop, the sweetest drop;
The drizzle drummed upon the flaccid peepal leaves, moistened the lips of palash flowers.
Then came the torrent, smiting the dusty soil, splattering the thirsty rivulet of the bare brook,
Waxing and waning, and finally fading, as newborn streams gurgled along in their youthful hours.
Where ever shall I find this melody again
These lyrics of nature, the music of rain?
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