Rain in the forest

The timber was alive with the expectation of rain. High above, the cover of ancient trees, their leaves thick and moldable, rustled gently as the wind picked up. A faint scent of earth and verdure transfused the air, mixing with the crisp pledge of incoming humidity. For weeks, the timber had been dry, the leaves on the timber bottom scraping underfoot and the small aqueducts reduced to bare driblets. Every living thing sounded to hold its breath, staying for the long-overdue blessing from the sky. It started with a distant grumble, like the rumble of some ancient, napping beast. The first droplet fell, splashing against a broad splint with a resounding valve, snappily followed by another, and also another. Soon, a gentle jargon filled the air, a delicate symphony of nature’s percussion. The timber, formerly quiet and parched, began to stir. As the rain boosted, the cover could no longer hold the weight of the water. driblets protruded down in shimmering curtains, creating a mist that hung in the air. The ground, covered in a thick subcaste of fallen leaves and putrefying factory matter, snappily soaked up the humidity, exhaling a rich, earthy aroma that sounded to amp the very soul of the timber. Small brutes surfaced from their caching places. bitsy frogs, their skin gyroplane and glistering, hopped jovially in the growing billabongs

, their chorus adding to the symphony. Insects of all shapes and sizes scurried about, taking advantage of the wettish conditions. The rainwater formed streamlets that trickled over moss- covered monuments and wound their way down to the aqueducts, bringing them back to life. catcalls, who had been silent in the rough heat of the former weeks, now flirted from branch to branch, their feathers ruffled and wet. They sang jubilantly, their calls echoing through the trees, celebrating the return of the rain. Among them, a resplendent quetzal perched high in a mahogany tree, its emerald plumage shimmering in the rain, looking like a jewel against the green background. Deep within the timber, an old tree stood, its box gnarled and twisted with age. It had witnessed innumerous rains, storms, and famines. Its roots excavated deep into the earth, seeking the life- giving water that now soaked the ground above. As the rain fell, the tree sounded to drink in the humidity,

its leaves perking up, their green deepening with renewed vitality. near, a small family of deer ventured out, their blond fleeces darkened by the rain. The youthful, a fawn with spots still adorning its sides, stalked through the wet leafage, delighting in the sensation of the cool rain on its fur. Its mama watched protectively, her cognizance shuddering at every sound, yet there was a sense of calm, as if the rain had washed down the pressure that had gripped the timber during the dry spell. As the hours passed, the rain continued to fall, steady and patient. The timber bottom, now impregnated, began to sow new life. bitsy green shoots pushed through the damp earth, eager to take advantage of the renewed humidity. Ferns extended their fronds, adding to the rummy of the leafage. Flowers, preliminarily wilted, lifted their heads and opened their petals to the rain, their colors vibrant against the muted tones of the wet timber. The rain did further than nourish the shops and creatures; it also sounded to cleanse the very spirit of the timber.

The trees stood altitudinous, their branches reaching towards the sky as if in gratefulness. The air was fresher, each breath a memorial of the life- giving power of water. The aqueducts, formerly bare whispers, now sang loudly as they flowed over jewels and through the roots of trees, their demitasse-clear waters a testament to the timber’s renewed vitality. As twilight approached, the rain began to taper off, the heavy shadows sluggishly parting to reveal a sky painted in tinges of pink and orange. The timber, glistering with drops, sounded to glow in the soft light of the setting sun. A gentle mist rose from the ground, adding an ethereal quality to the scene. The brutes of the timber, having enjoyed the rain, now settled down, chancing sanctum for the coming night.

The old tree, a guard in this ancient forestland, stood still as the last drops of rain fell from its leaves. It had seen numerous rains, numerous cycles of life and death, and knew that this was just another chapter in the endless story of the timber. Yet, each rain was a memorial of the interconnectedness of all effects, the delicate balance that sustained life in this green world. As darkness fell, the timber grew quiet formerly more, the sounds of the day fading into the gentle hum of the night. The rain had come and gone, leaving behind a timber renewed and revitalized. And so, the timber slept, cradled in the grasp of the night, ready to awaken to a new day, full of life and pledge.