The Morning After, The Night Before.
It is official. The monsoon has set.
On first hearing this phrase, I thought I might be experiencing an Al Gore moment, and that the monsoon must have finished early – extremely early.
But by setting, the monsoon has in fact arrived.
When I retired to my bedroom last night, the comfort of sleep was unaccustomedly difficult to find.
Instead, I was entertained by a mighty son et lumière performance.
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For over an hour my room became the stage on which searingly bright lights, cruelly sharp shadows, deafening sound and powerful tremors fiercely interplayed.
As dawn broke I questioned if an early morning walk would be possible.
But, other than a few puddles, life had returned to normal.
The beach was beginning to bustle:
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Footballers were back in position;
The cheerleaders their customary, sanguine selves.
A boy was opening my local tea-stand,
His first customer already waiting.
For young and old it was business as usual.
The sky was brightening,
The storm blown out.
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