Sunday, April 12, 2015

The Sounds of Water

I’m not the first person, surely, to wish we could package seasons – little packets of pickled season – to be opened later, when we could really use it. A bagful of sun-warmth and sun-scents for chilly winters, a purple-dark cloud of rain for when it’s blazing down in the second fortnight of May, a few icicles of cold when you’re so parched you could swoon.

But Hyderabad, I am certain, is a spot most cherished by the gods. Almost nine months of splendid weather! The rains treat us well, winters are mild and are sufficient only to let us enjoy our woollens, and the summers, hot and torrid though they are, are kind and bountiful. And even those three months of heat are alleviated by nicely placed April showers, lest we become too overcome.

It has been months since I changed the header on this blog, and I was looking to see if I could find something appropriate. I read this haiku yesterday and put it aside. But it has been raining here all morning, and as I puttered around the house, I found it true.

Joyce Clement says:
a different pitch
from room to room
summer rain

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