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 l
oved 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.