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A Glad Gale by Devika

The door slams with a deafening bang and the whooshing wind seems to be the culprit of the ill mannered act. I rush eagerly to the window. Yes! It’s a storm, an incipient storm. I cling to the cold window grill and peer out. The sky is a lovely light blue with graying tinges; various shades of the same hue rise and subside with a subtlety and elegance that would shame an artist of renown. The delicious smell of wet earth, dust and imminent rain first wafts gently to the keen nose, then hits me like wave. The wind- it howls, roars, then gently swishes, sweeping my hair off my face. It is like the conductor who waves his baton; the trees prance to its wryly beautiful music. The trees, fading green, wrenched dry by the cold hands of summer have been infused with a new life and soul; they yell and laugh, carefree as only a tree in a storm can be. The trees seem to cock a snook at the cruel summer, shaking of the rust accumulated during their dormancy in its reign. It is as if the sky, soil, air and trees are throbbing with uncontrollable elation at having shattered the chains of the summer. But the summer is unforgiving, it will return to bind them-they know this and enjoy their few minutes of freedom with utmost joy.

A bird, infected by the cheer, attempts to match the wind’s song with a melodious strain. Near and far, several doors can be heard slamming shut. There are occasional shouts of little boys playing cricket in the storm, and more frequently heard squeals of automobile horns thundering away in the distance. All the sounds seem to dissolve in the air with the astray leaves floating away. A lad smokes a cigarette on a verandah; the smoke swirls up in circles and is suddenly engulfed by the wind. I stand at the window, inhaling with my eyes the intoxicatingly eloquent scene. I wait for the rain to patter down. There are occasional flashes of lightning, like toothy smiles of the sky that illuminate fleetingly, nature’s joyous children. But there is no rain. It is as if the sky endeavours fiercely to rain but in an aura of such exhilaration, there is no scope for tears. By and by, the night falls like a shy veil and the moon rises, but the ferocious happiness all around me refuses to decline. I stand still, gazing, my senses fresh and awoken. In a while it is time to go, but the gladness rages like a storm in every pore of myself.

Devika Girish
class 8
BVM,Civil Lines
Nagpur, Maharashtra

Words of Appreciation

Parwathy A blooming "Booker"
PMSMURTHY Fantastic Devika, keep up Blessings - Grandpa PMSM
shripriya Its really good & keep writing these.

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