The showers were soft, calm, gentle and the lightning flashed, peering the virgin bosom of the sky. Darkness had surrounded the place and the sun was resting beyond the western horizon. The trees merely danced in wind and the symphony of the gale moving through the boughs seemed to my weary ears as an opera. The thunder clapped praising the wind for its soft song. It felt as if a sonnet was being played by the gods. The sweet fragrance of flowers had spread in the air, which brought to my soul, purity and sanctity. The heavens had blessed the place with all its beauty and the best of the Himalayas had been showered on the place around me. The sight of the Blue Nile was like a brush stroke from the almighty painting this landscape.
But the flower, which I had held open in my lap, suppressed all this beauty with a single brush of her lips .Tired the flowers had folded their petals, so had my love shut her eyelids. The wind, harshly moving through her soft hair, had spread them all over my chest and my fingers lost, lost caressing them gently. The ground, usually hard, had turned into a soft bed today, and covering it with a sheet of grass, nature smiled at us and bestowed its affection.
A surge of spontaneous love gently moved my hand over her, for if I would let it drop in May showers, it would have flooded the place more than the rain did. I would gladly thank the loud thunder which got her cuddled into my arms bringing celestial ecstasy to my soul.