It has been a pretty good weather for the last couple of days, for this time of the year. But still I am thrilled by this wind storm that is beginning to pick up. Its thrashing against the structures like a mad lover, crashing like an angry sea god. The wind hisses and wails alternatingly, talking of the happenings only it witnesses during its flow. Sobbing for the sorrows only carries within. The sturdy trunk braves the slapping wind with enviable dignity, while the weak branches sway with the force, grooving along the orchestra only a wild wind can play.
Its dusty. I close my eyes and decide to get back in. But my senses ask me to stop. Its turning moist. The dampness that is the gentle texture of the soothing shower which is going to subdue this mad lover, is slightly becoming detectable. Soon this hissing and wailing wind would be sighing of relief, gathered and collected within the moisture washing away its sorrows.
I stay on the terrace for I smell rain in this hurling cloak of dust.
The wait is over.
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