Friday, November 2, 2012


There is nothing quite like African rain. It is sparing and fleeting; the clouds can hold their breath for months before releasing the thunderous sigh that paints the earth below them green. The sleeping soil is kissed awake. It swallows the wetness lustfully, begging for more and more until it turns to mud and no longer can receive. Revitalized, the dirt and mud shimmy below the Earth's surface, guiding the water to the hungry mouths of seeds, who will soon boast their births above ground.
But the moment is quick. When Sun reemerges on his throne in the sky, he is forceful and authoritative. The only memory of the rain is the gooey dark-stained dirt and the occasional puddle here and there. But those too will soon be lapped by Suns rays.
Later in the night, when Sun is tired, the remnants of rain will slip like a fog back into the air. Sniff – you can smell it. The cool freshness is unmistakable in its origin. Stand outside and breathe it in and if you listen hard enough, maybe, just maybe, you’ll hear the earth breathe too.

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