There is a pale sun, and I’m hearing the rain pouring down over the mountains. It is slowly approaching – and yes, the first drops are falling. Now the leaves are glistening.
An almost cold wind makes me feel chilly. It’s traveling from the west, from the wild Indian Ocen
White clouds are creeping over the ridge, birds twittering around me, and now the sun decides to send a few strong warming rays. The leaves shine, as if they were lit from within, in the most intense of greens. Greens unmixed, directly from the tube.
The wind has turned into a soft breeze, it’s almost still, and I can hear the river roar down in the valley. A humming bird passes, no other sound than its vibrating wings.
The rain has ceased, the flowers are proudly exposing their sparkling beauty. Reds as intense as on the day they were invented. I feel like dipping my finger in them and painting the whole world red.
