(I discovered more of my writings from my college days, hidden away in a file somwhere)
Skies were filled with dark clouds. The air around me seemed oppressive. Everything was so routine. A drop of rain fell on my face. I hurried inside, sighing, hoping it would stop soon. I wanted my routine.
Soon the smell of mud surrounded me, the music of rain falling rented the air. I saw gazing out of the window watching the dark clouds shedding their darkness. Kids playing on the streets, started running, not really wanting any cover but just for joy. Slowly, puddles formed on the streets and ran down the sidewalks.
The leaves were turning green under the gentle wash of the rain. The pure water cleansed the dust and grime on them, turning them lusher by the minute. The flowers were gently watered by the drops.
Slowly, the dark, black clouds turned blue. Everything was wet.
A drop of water slowly ran down the petal of the red rose and reluctantly dropped down to the green leaf. It gently rolled down the leaf and lingered for a moment at the tip before reluctantly dripping down, down, falling onto the wet, brown soil and was readily embraced by it.
Kids are out on the streets again. Jumping in the puddles, making the water splash, squealing, sailing boats in the small puddles, their faces stretched with grins as they watch those boats float away.
Everything is so pure, so wet and so beautiful. Another rainy evening passes, leaving behind its wetness and freshness. And they too pass, leaving behind memories of beauty and the smell of rain.
Another time, another place. Stuck amidst hordes of smoky vehicles, I thirsted for change. For beauty and laughter. A drop of rain falls on my face.
There were no trees, no puddles, no mud or kids with boats. Yet the scene unfolds in my mind, green leaves and muddy puddles. I am amidst greenery again and I am completely soaked.
Again and again, as the drops fall on my face, I remember the rainy evening. Because as Keats once said… A thing of beauty is a joy forever.