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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