Now, monsoon has always been my weak-point. I suppose I share this quality with a number of others. Here's what wafted through the window after a slow drizzle.
This clear, settled monsoon air. Celebrating the tears and words of some mighty pagan God. Long forgotten. Yet His words linger in the air. When the clouds have weeped enough and they gather around to muster a few more sobs, you can hear them. Sometimes, I am privy to them. The verses of His secret so strong that they make the sky blush at night. I have seen it. Once when I was floating, watching the night birds flee in silhouettes, I had seen the pink night sky. And I spoke to it "I know, I have heard it too..."
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