When it splatters, drops, drips; it will pour as rain. The cows, goats and flowers will have known. The calf hoping, and the goat jumping and the flower hoping with almost open buds. You and I if not smiling, will have already dug, ploughed and planted. Or maybe we may have forgotten the upcountry for farming but not the produce in plenty our new towns will bear.
I look at you and mind the white collar you are on. This time you rather were given an off or a good, good break. Not just that but a good detachment from the office to a badly needed re appointment to the bedsheets. Yes,I too, a business mind but what of lovers?
The time for reckoning would have crept into their minds. Their hearts beating for as much the harder as the patting of the hailstones rains, on their roofs and windows. It would bring Valentines back to season in seconds, minutes and lovers would extend the hours. Hours unforgotten, untold!
Keep quiet and listen. I will be listening. I will be paying keen attention. Yes, to nature and all its discreet speeches. Its discretion will be my sole advisory. For like the wise men pondered ‘after the storm comes..’ I will be in a titanic of thoughts; washing away with words like the rain, the tears of my sunken ships. So when it rains again, I shall have recounted my pains against my gains.