The Herald, September 2015
Summer is drawing to a close. The mornings are darker as the evenings are longer. The long awaited rains have come. As the curtain opens, I sit in awe. The smell of the wet soil fills my nostrils. The lonely deepened colors of the leaves, in all their shades of green, gold and rust. The soft cloud covered gray sky brings a crisp clarity to the outline of every leaf, of every line and knot in each tree, and to each pebble that makes up the paths.
It is a scrumptious palate brought to life by the melodic tune of the rain. Each drop travelling down the deciduous canopy, swollen with leaves. It is nature’s xylophone, each leaf making a unique sound. Resonating together to orchestrate the song of a late summer rain. A quick clash of the cymbals and the boom of the bass drum command the skies to open up for the final performance. The overture has begun. The masterful downpour is wickedly exciting. Holding my breath until the last clash. All goes silent, but just for a moment.
The soft voice of a Wren begins to sing. The baritone of a tree frog joins her, and their minuet commences. Soft and melodic, truly the calm after the storm. The final encore. The gently falling leaves of the applauding trees provide satisfaction for all. A perfect performance, I sigh in satisfaction.