Moroccan Rain

The midday sun is hidden behind a thick layer of black and green clouds.  Only its golden rays are visible; they light up the edges of the clouds with a literal silver lining, contrasting greatly with the dull grayness of the clouds interior and exclaiming to the world that the sun is indeed still with us and that this too shall pass.  For now though, the darkness has spread over three quarters of the sky, extending way off into the distance and leaving only a small patch of blue in the east.  The distant earth is dark and drab, as though night has fallen early.  The western horizon is lost between the blackness of giant, bulging clouds and a land unseen by the sun; it cannot be determined where the one ends and the other begins.  Steady gusts of wind indicate to all that this darkness is coming soon.

The silence is pervasive.  Ancient trees shake from fear of the coming assault but dare not make a sound, lest the storm find each of them individually and put in double efforts to uproot them from their earthen homes.  The air is thick with moisture and smells of Mother Nature’s own sweat, the natural musk of an old, yet vibrant woman who has been hard at work and still has much to do.  The streets are clear.  Sidewalks and intersections are almost deserted, save for a few scattered souls finishing some last bit of business before making their way inside.  Shops have been closed, windows shut, doors fastened, and ropes tied.  An uneasy calm has descended upon the city.

The clouds overhead are heavy with rain and decide intermittently to lighten their load, casting down tiny droplets of dirty water upon the residents of this dusty town in northern Morocco.  Some drops fall without care, allowing themselves to be pushed by the wind this way and that until eventually they reach their final destinations with a silent thud.  Others are more playful; they race their friends and lightheartedly argue over who is faster or who has the better aim.  They speed down towards the earth and call out to the others, “Look at me!  Look at me!” before landing on the heads of the passing humans with triumphant splashes, their kamikaze missions complete.  The largest drops fall rapidly, cutting through the wind as though it were non-existent.  When they finally do touch down, their mass and speed lead to spectacular crashes.  They bounce high off of the ground, jumping for joy in celebration of their arrivals, only to fall yet again, landing softly and forming groups of small, nearly indistinguishable puddles.  These first, slight showers are erratic.  They start and stop with an eerie irregularity.  They are just the first wave of the coming onslaught; soldiers of the front line.  The heavy rumblings in the distance indicate that the cavalry and tanks are on their way.