They say the rain can ease the wrath of the hot sun, can heave the heavy burden of the black clouds. The say the pouring water from the sky can bring life to earth, can make the seeds succumb to the temptation of growing out of their shells and face up the outside world jubilantly filled with new born hope.
I have always loved that falling water. I have always eagerly sipped the scents of the wet earth, inhaled the tastes of the humid air and blended them together into my own dancing cup of tea. But lo, now that I am all soaking wet. I am shaking inside out hating the chirping of the laughing birds. I didn't recognise this feeling; never acquainted this rage. What has gotten into me? Am I not the child of Gaia anymore? Has she abandonned me? Or have I drifted too far away from her comforting bossom, have too much of the poisonous but decievingly inviting ambrosia?
The sky is light blue once again. The black from the clouds has turned into white once more. I lay flat on the ground. Beside me is a young plant singing its thankful chants to the sky. I just look straight up to the atmosphere
