It has been a week
of hard baking sun,
and my petunias
are resplendent with
snow white flowers,
delicate petals fluttering
in a warm afternoon breeze.
I sit beside them
with a hot cup of tea
on the front steps,
watching rush hour traffic
drive past my house,
probably heading home
to rest and to loved ones.
Suddenly it seems,
the lights are dimmed,
dark clouds rush in, with
a flash of lightning,
thunder deeply rumbles,
followed by big fat drops
of rain water.
I step back into the porch,
inhale the petrichor,
hear the incessant
beating of the rain,
see a drenched world form
wild running rivulets,
as settled dust washes away.
Switched on wipers,
hastily closed windows,
some on two-wheelers
zip their raincoats,
others dash for shelter,
the neighbour runs out
to pick damp again laundry.
A few minutes of chaos,
then everything stops,
sunlight breaks through
fast retreating clouds,
wet feathers shrug off,
but, my dripping dull petunias,
nourished, happy, sway away.
