Storm in a teacup

The heavy summer rain thrashes the palms standing strong like soldiers outside my balcony window. Through the gaping louvers the whipping sounds and fresh storm smells fill the room which would otherwise only be tainted by the hum of my ceiling fan and over-amiable, tuneful geckos. These green guards the only protection to the encroaching flashes of lightning working their way across the emerald-lined bay, shimmering in the reflection of every soaked surface. The dark waters reminiscent of the molten rock which was borne by any one of the volcanoes that mark every direction of the terrestrial horizon.

A childhood filled with fond memories of long-awaited rains finally drenching the sun-scorched farmland have made certain that with every drop of rain, excitement rises and spirits lift. Sipping tea sitting here in my new hometown, prisoner to puddles pondering whether I will ever grow tired of the soothing smells, enveloping sounds and the thrill of summer rains.