Twenty-seven

Some of the last of rains were falling north-west from the rooftop. The rangy electric pole stood dividing the heap of mound in distance, where there were more electric poles and more wiring, which definitely were to be held responsible for disrupting our sleep this morning. My mom who had slept beside me, quivered at me while spooling in the bed, unable to get sleep due to the power cut. I was so damn heavy eyed that I didn’t bother her asking more than ‘What happened?’ to which I got ‘No power’ in her lousy voice.
The lush green leaves were twirling as the rainfall lay touched at them and I was glad. This season is outstretching. I had thought I would have to pour pots of water every now and then to the rose plants that I ploughed and patted in row not too far from the front porch, because the rains had not been regular in the beginning of September. Now that will be taken care of anyway. Every night, just after into sleeping, the drizzling would begin and have the land wet while we woke up in the morning, today it was the pouring that we were awakened to. And I stood there by the doorstep, watching the criss-cross falling, at the lanky electric pole, the mound beyond it. And then at the ripples that were being formed at little puddles. My mom joined me, also wanting it to stop so she could walk to the market road without having to carry my maroon umbrella along.
Minutes later, downpour stopped. Mom climed down the front steps, clanked the gate open and left. The power was back. Wifi turned on. World no longer felt real.

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