Mists of unfamiliarity

These grey clouds. A sad barely visible golden glow from beneath them, which You wonder, "Is this soft light there? Or am I imagining it?" They leave just a few meters of dark dark blue sky above the ground. There's a chill I feel, but not from the cold.  Since childhood, I never felt afraid of thunder, always tried to guess what the dark clouds are saying to each other ... But these grey clouds are silent. Maybe they don't like me guessing their ideas.  Silent slumbering dispirited hesitant clouds.

The mist is descending. I feel it choking my heart.

I wish for a downpour. Like the one that was the day I returned from my Gran's place. I'd overstayed because of Chicken Pox. I was 15 days late for the 1st day in highschool. & I looked pockmarked like a hag. It was the end of the world as I knew it.

We were returning by hired car because I was too weak for train journey. Down came the rain. The storm lashed about. We call it the "kaalbaishakhi", the cataclysm of the month of April.  Washed the car. The road. The shops. The trees. In dirt. In water. When it was over, almost, we were almost reaching.

I remember reaching home on a rain washed & Sodium-streetlight flooded roadway, lined with dripping trees dressed in new green, sleepy & wondering how many of my old section will be in this yr's class?

The End

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