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Difference between revisions of "Practice Everyday"
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== Day 177 == | |||
--- Eric version --- | |||
'''Rain''' | |||
In my place, the rain has an erratic mind of its own, unbound and unpredictable. One second you look out the window, blinded by the blaze of the sun, in awe of the azure, cloudless sky pure as water, and breathing in the radiant vibrance of summer that leaks from your window into your room. A blink, and all that's before you is a darkened black-and-white image of what once was, with the sky sighing loudly and raindrops crashing on the ground. | |||
Sometimes, it's happy and just wishes some light-hearted mischief. As you walk out of a building towards a transparent sky and a beaming sun, one singular droplet goes "plop!" on your head as the sky begins to darken, and you run frantically to your car in fear of a developing storm, only to find that the rain consisted of only that one drop of water as the sun comes back out and mocks your ignorance. Or maybe, as you look outside, the sky suddenly puts on a dark veil and rain starts pouring through a gaping hole; but with a blink of an eye, the ground has already dried out and the sun starts smiling brighter than ever. The earthy petrichor floats into your nostrils, and a light breeze blows across your skin like a blanket. Sometimes it even allies with the wind for a prank. As it blows and blows, the rustling of leaves, grass and all plants alike perfectly mimics the beautiful soundscape of a curtain of rain, and you prepare an umbrella only to find that it was all an unmalicious façade. | |||
Pray though, that it's not in a bad mood, for it does not care about anything as it cries and roars. Huge drops pound violently on the ground and threaten to shatter car windows. Huge puddles accumulate seconds after. The rain splats on tree branches and breaks them off like toys; it splats on unsuspecting heads, an unrelenting machine gun from the skies; it splats on umbrellas as the wind huffs and puffs until they snap and are rendered useless; it splats on car engines, windows, sunroofs, doors, and trunks, surrounding people inside from all sides with the terrifying sound. The mist engulfs then like a beast closing its mouth. The wind is an unstoppable, formidable force. It blows away all scents, leaving nothingness in its place. It forms an invisible wall in front of people, squeezing the air out of their lungs and stabbing needles into their skin. A helpless scene, of cars barely crawling across the streets, of people seeking futile shelter, until the streets die out under a blinding downpour; grass bends, trees snap, and people hide from this terrifying monster. Lifeless. Helpless. It consumes. It destroys. It annihilates. | |||
But no matter it be happy or angry, in euphoria or in a rampage, it is always temporary. As the rulers of the sky eventually reclaim their power and banish those anomalous clouds into nothingness, the world peaces out again. Birds chirp, grass straighten their bent backs, and trees stand tall. Scents return, this time of flowery sweetness and earthy goodness. Monstrous winds return into gentle breezes, comforting your skin and carefully picking those needles out like a nurse. Everything goes back to normal, as if nothing has happened, as if nothing ever happened, and as if nothing will ever happen. | |||
== Day 176 == | == Day 176 == | ||