It happened last night while I was taking a walk along a deserted path somewhere in the middle of a heavily vegetated stretch of land. It was raining cats and dogs just fifteen minutes ago but the fury of the Gods had milded and the torrents reduced to soft drizzle. It was eleven in the night. The stage was set and the venue clear. There was a distant echo loud in my ears, "It's show-time".
The leaves rustled softly against each other, picking rhythm poco a poco. The air picked pace to an allegretto gale that whistled in glee. The alla breve water drops from the high leaves provided the percussive effect. The crickets chirped appassionato to agitation growing around. There was music in the air. The stars twinkled capriccioso adding their magic to the opus taking shape. The ocassional noise from aeroplanes landing and taking off at a distance bridged between symphonies. The caesura from stray animals, the nascent stream gurgling grazioso, the purity of birth from the sprouting shoots, the tree barks rubbing against each other coarsely, the sweet smell rising from the wet soils, the creaking of the branches back and forth in the air, the lights effects from the moon playing peek-a-boo in the overcast skies - the whole of nature conspiring a trance hidden from the logical world.
I stood motionless, my arms outstretched, my eyes closed and head held high feeling the sporadic rain drops on my face. It was the music of arrival, a celebration of existence. And as my clothes began to drench from drizzle or sweat or both, I witnessed nature in her nubile form.
