When The Horizon Darkens

The signs began to slowly, very slowly appear and all are watching and waiting. The oppressive heat is diminishing so that working and moving and living is again a bit more bearable. The grass, sparse as it is, has bleached pale, standing brittle or flattened in the too still air. Muddy patches of dampness dot the dry river bed where thirsty cows searched for water. The question without an answer: would taps run dry before the water level could be replenished? Weather apps and television screens are eagerly and frequently checked and conversations center around “when”...waiting, waiting, waiting. And then, on its own timeline, the first dark, angry clouds finally appear beyond the hills and the stillness is broken by the sound of a gentle breeze growing in strength as it and the swollen clouds approach. The first soft drops of rain quickly morph into a deluge, cool and drenching; dogs, cows, school children, and workers, unprepared, are caught in the fury of the rain that has finally arrived. Thunder grumbles “I’ve come yet again” and lightning flashes a greeting. The wind captures branches and hurls them to the ground. Umbrellas come out of storage, often providing scant protection against the driving rain and the dirty splash of vehicles anxious to get home. Dupattas offer no protection on covered heads or shivering shoulders and flip-flops attempt to avoid the mud and the largest holes, which quickly fill with life-sustaining water. It has come and there is rejoicing in being cold and wet and muddy. Once again, the unmistakable signs have foretold the return of the monsoons and we welcome and make the adjustments to a new season.

— cmshingle