Sunday, May 27, 2012
A storm hit my city today. The wind screamed and howled. The parched trees swayed like dervishes in ecstasy. The listless earth came to life with fragrances that no perfume can ever replicate.
Wise men say that storms are destructive. They uproot all that is good, built with hard work and love. They can make people homeless. Or worse, they can take away the means of livelihood.
True. All true. But sometimes – nay, at all times – they are a thing of beauty too. Not the gentle loveliness of a summer breeze. The beauty of storms is ferocious. Like fire. Like the fiercest and proudest beasts of the jungle. The lions and the tigers.
And sometimes, they bring intense joy. Like today. And I freaking love them. They make me feel fierce and wild and happy. For no reason. For just being. Sometimes, they make me dream of bigger things. Of grand moments and passions. Of adventures and epics.
They make me want to dance in sheer happiness. They make me want to blend my voice with the wind. They make me want to shed inhibitions and glory in all things impractical. To dance in the rain on the rooftop. To spread my arms and let the driving gale blow me away.
Is it any wonder then, that I love storms?