I note that there's this strange tendency for many posts on this blog to be about rain.  That shouldn't deceive anyone into thinking it rains constantly -- although that will be the case when the monsoons hit come summer.  And I've been told they hit hard around here.

This post is a brief one, and takes the form of a sort of prose poem.  Wasn't trying to be all literary or anything, it just... I don't know, seemed like the only way to capture the feeling.


It has been storming all night, sometimes angrily, sometimes softly, but always storming.  A stray puppy sleeps outside my door, under the cover of the porch roof, covered by a towel I sacrificed during the last storm to quiet the shivering of a different, cold pup.

It is 11:36.

An hour ago, for five minutes, the sky threw hail at the tin roof; the sound was so loud there was nothing else to think about but

Now the rain is gentle again, the thunder distant, echoing off the first risings of the Himalaya.

I got up for the bathroom a moment ago, flicked the light switch, click
Click click

Must be something wrong, the power’s not out but
Oh --
Actually it is.

I smiled and wandered to the window,
Looked out at the darkened campus outside:
No light, no light from the dorm,
Or the lights along the walkway,
Or anywhere,
Even across the valley.

And at that moment,
In the distance,
A bolt of lightning came cutting through the sky,
Briefly illuminating the mountain where I was told
The Yeti live.

First the internet went, hours ago
And now all the power is gone;
This storm will have its due
And we all live the same,
Subjects of the weather.
Nobody here
Is bigger than the weather.


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