October 1, 2011
I was awakened by the distant sound a rolling thunder. It is nearly dawn but the sky outside my bedroom window is still gloomy and depressing. Lightning repeatedly flashes and thunder mutters ominously. I don’t want to get up, just lying in bed contentedly and listening to the sousing downpours of the rain.
Rain in this part of the world usually goes as quickly as it comes, but not today. By 11:00am, rain still comes and not wanting to go. I always have a rain fixation. It may seem inconvenient to go outside in the rain, but I do not mind remaining indoor; observing how the rain transforms the world.
First, it is the air. Rain washes the air heavy, fragrant. I find its smell irresistible. Then, it is the sound of the rain, the rhythm that it creates; the gentle tapping resonances on a rooftop, on tree branches, on leaves, on earth. It is prodigiously soothing, hypnotic, soporific and comforting. Wind turns out to be, if anything, even more magnificent. Here in Baku, the notorious gale often intensifies a rain storm. I watch the 70 feet tall giant cottonwood in my courtyard swinging back and forth ferociously as the gale grows fiercer. Leaves are drenched with rainfalls which help to wash away months of cumulated summer dust. I often wonder where the birds are, where they are hiding, how they keep themselves dry and warm.
Then it is the after rain. When the pale sky begins to brighten, slowly the chirping sounds of birds become audible. Patches of blue sky appear, sun peeks through dark clouds, and millions of diamond raindrops scintillating in its rays. Everything is brought back to life again.
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