After the rains

I used to think my favorite time was when it rained. Today proved me wrong. I realized it is just after it stops raining. The mist clears, but the clouds are still there. Omniscient, dark, forbidding. The sun wages a constant battle with them, winning one minute, losing the next. It’s quiet…till the birds come out. Then the air fills with their songs and caws. If you listen carefully, you’ll hear the river rushing past too. She’s filled today, and no longer lazily crawls. A flock of migratory birds fly to the distant hill, a stark white against the dull grey and blue. You can see the puddles on the half flooded road. Past it, there are various shades of green. Grass, coconut trees, trees I cannot identify, they’re all there. Every now and then a building pops up, in garish colors disturbing the greenery. The hills are covered in green too, but they don’t seem warm. They’re much like the clouds. Forbidding. Every time the sun wins, and pops out of the clouds to stare over nature’s creations majestically, the greens become brighter, welcoming their friend. It’s a short victory. The clouds engulf it again, and the rain begins once again. By the time it stops, it’s early evening. My river, like I call her seems to be rising by the minute. She’s having a small battle of her own with the cement embankments that try to curb her. The sun seems to have wearily gone off, calling off the battle for the day. There seems to be an uneasy truce.
And I sit there, with a book, waiting for the next battle to begin.