The forces that drive thunder to strike and screech through the smouldering sky is the same force that forces it to later smudge and blend into the night like that smudge of a blend in mascara on a girls face wearing a scarlet blush which compliments it.
The thunderstorm is scary,No doubt about that. But in midst of the scorching heat and swooning bodies falling here and there and here, under the charms and spells of the sun, feel relieved when the thundering sound approaches and the clouds cover the blue of ṭhe sky and turn it into grey and finally a shade of black. The mighty yet not so mighty of God’s creation look up in awe and relief thinking it’s about time that their prayers have been answered.
Rain has always had it’s way with humans. Humans who have a heart that connects to that of nature. The rain drops touch the lithosphere and dance at the touch of the ground as if their tinny droplet bodies are caressed after ages and their thirst finally quenched. It is in almost the same way humans dance to their tune. I look out of my bedroom window and I see girls dancing their hearts out with every touch of rain that is setting their bodies ablaze in fits of laughter at the thundering sound of the invisible magic wand being waves somewhere afar behind the cloak of the night.
Now looking at the trees I have this different observation. Where as for the humans, thunderstorms are a chance to create more noise and chaos and laughter,for the tress it’s a time of whispering and trespassing the boundaries that are otherwise always created. I see them bending this way and that and hobbnobbing together as if whispering to each other the stories that their hearts have kept locked up until that very moment.These storms bring them close but as it is , attachments come with a cost. Too much snuggles and cuddles and whispers are out of bound and if they try to cross that line the result is fatal. As fatal as imminent death caused due to unacceptable bending and breaking.
Lifting my thoughtful gaze from the ground I again look outside the window. The storm has ceased. It’s calm. Everything back to the way it was and the eventful hours or could have been minutes, who could tell, have passed away. Solace and order has taken it’s authority back after much of a battle. To conclude all Is well under the splender of the dark dark night but I see a sapling sprout and I wonder … But Ah well that’s a story for another time, under different skies , under different shades of the night.