The children wait in the heat, eyes looking up towards heavens for some relief. The air is almost solid, heavy, making it difficult to breathe. The anticipation is almost as unbearable as those beads of sweat that stubbornly trace their way across the skin. No relief in sight.
Brown eyes gaze up at the blindingly white, unrelenting sky. Dense atmosphere sits heavy on the heart, while the ground below cracks as you walk on it. Silently, they beseech the gods, and wait.
Then they see the signs. The sun hides, as the earth senses help is on the way. The air, hanging so still earlier, gains fluidity, and whispers conspiratorially, taunting without promising. The dust wakes up and joins in, and as if marking its presence, pigments the sky yellow. The stage is set, and all await the arrival of the whimsical star of the show.
And then, without warning, they descend. They can't be contained, just as the schoolkids can't be. They dash out to welcome the outpour. The sky thunders, and lets itself loose. The earth sighs in relief, redolent of innocent happiness. The parched cracks dissolve, as does the heaviness in the air. The thunder punctuates the children's laughter, as their mothers keep vigil from the safe, dry quarters. The rhythm, soft at first, embarks on the crescendo. The firmament moves through shades of blue, growing deeper, till it reaches midnight blue at the climax. Midnight blue, with occasional silver linings. The symphony's notes splash over the strings of the soul as the heavens keep track of the cadence. And as the children jump into puddles of joy the tempo starts to decrease. The orchestra moves towards the conclusion of the performance, the children reluctantly head back to warmth.
And then the clouds part company, with a promise to come back next summer.