I’m late starting this year with bloganuary. Not that I haven’t been posting daily, just not with the prompts yet so I thought I’d catch up with the last week all in one blast and then add the prompt to my other daily observations. https://threwmikeseyez.com/2023/01/07/catchup/
The staccato rap-tap-tap of thunder heralds the short and wet season:
From the Bay of Bengal, humid, earth-scented,
Howling, darkening shadows across the parched Delhi sky.
Scented with drops of water falling on arid earth, soaring, trees shuddering in a maddened dance of excitement, announcing its arrival.
Louder and louder, punctuated by bolts of lightning,
The monsoon advances to our street.
Peals of laughter, shouts of joy – they too herald its arrival.
Hurry, we say, or we will miss it.
We flee to the open areas and join others similarly streaming out of their shelters.
In flip-flops or bare feet, heads uncovered, arms flung wide, face up, mouth agape, to catch the first droplet,
The streams that cool our skin, our insides, our minds, and our hearts,
The wall of water that in its hurried passage pushes us off our feet,
Then flat on our backs, we splash and play in puddles, never getting enough.
The first rain of the monsoon season is a joy,
Unparalleled to any other.
Answering the call of the Himalayas, driving the water-heavy clouds,
Piercing the sky, pricking eager ears of the thirsty plains,
Prying out the seedlings from wide and lofty land,
Roaring mightily onward,
The monsoon transforms a summer dustbowl into a winter dreamland called Delhi.
And quickly, in just a few weeks, it is gone.
And we wait for next year.
[…] Word Press is Hosting Bloganuary for the month, giving us daily prompts or questions to blog about. I can’t keep up with it daily so I am doing a post about every 6 days or so, although this one has earned a spot of its own. Write a short story or poem about rain. […]
Since I have all my posts for January pre-written I’m having to come up with a stretch for how to make what I have written match the prompt. So here’s the best I can do today: “into every life a little rain must fall” http://aka-gringita.com/2023/01/07/and-the-hits-go-on/
On the metal roof of the van in which I live, the dance begins. The solitary tap dance of a single drop gathers momentum as its companions are called forth to perform. In dis-gust, the wind blows those tiny dancers aside, to drip down the side of the van, as if to conclude the rain dance. But the misty cloud of falling water that followed and had been waiting in the limbs of trees, gathering the strength of the storm, becomes a grand orchestra whose beat thumps and jumps, pumps and dumps down in its thicker tones, baritone plops and bass-string pops. For a time, it plays a more harried, almost frantic, beat as it pounds down, selfishly obliterating all other sounds … before it’s silenced by the sun.
Whispers of rain come as
Tinkles of sprinkles
Dancing like galloping ants
Rustling green foliage
Orchestral liquid movement