It is a rain washed morning in hot
Where temperatures in May climb to the yearly highs – over a hundred and then last night – the hottest day it was and the
air cracked cracked cracked.
And thunder rolled and rain poured and lightening slipped side ways in the sky.
This morning is rain washed glory. The streets are a debris of beauty.
- a litter with blown blossoms
Yellow laburnums and crusty orange gulmohar blossoms, mango leaves and the leaves of the holy peepul tree scramble around in the warm wind or lay wet and heavy under foot.
Cars are yellow with petal cover,
The pariah kites, our plentiful raptor of
The air is still specked with rain and flying birds. Mourning doves call their lament, a pair of red vented bulbuls sings to me- which is her and which is he? a magpie robin cocks his tail, the black drongo shows me is his with its special fork, the crows caw just to be heard - oh the happy flood of joy that we all feel, me, the birds, the trees the men, the feelings sends me to my pen – this warm windy rain washed morning in hot New Delhi – I must share with a friend.