Yesterday, the heat and humidity reached oppressive levels, and all who could hunkered down. Starlings and grackles sat with their beaks open, trying to lose body heat; I flipped the switch on the central air. Later in the afternoon, ominous clouds built up in the west,and thunder announced itself. I took down the umbrellas and cranked up the awning, moved a few small outdoor items that could turn into projectiles, and then waited. First to arrive was the rain, heavy and straight down, then the wind, driving the rain in sheets, grounding the handful of birds that didn't get to shelter soon enough. One robin tumbled by, tried to fly, then hopped to the lee side of the big ash tree to ride it out. A half-hour later when the rain stopped, he was gone, but the rain had been so heavy I couldn't see what happened to him.
The downpour was so solid, it triggered the motion-activated yardlight! Branches came down everywhere, shredded leaves were plastered against the windows, and the spreading red maple that offered so much shade in good weather eerily changed its shape. The best part of the storm (beyond the high drama) was that the temperature quickly dropped over 20 degrees. The sky cleared just in time for a beautiful sunset, so I could turn off the AC, and open the windows for some freshly washed air!
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.