The First Rains

The first droplets of water splattered the dusty ground. The smell of the first rains lay heavy in the air around as the heavens showered their blessings on the parched earth.
In one of the innumerable apartment complexes of a grimy city far removed from the mundane pleasures of life, sat a little girl. By the window. With her chin on the ledge, her eyes closed and all her senses picking up the heady essence of the first rains.
Her mother looked at her fondly and thought briefly about the joys afforded to the young before they became old, worldly-wise and callous.
The feeling passed.
She went and patted the little child on her head and asked her to come for dinner.
The girl rose and searched for her white cane.

I sometimes get a picture so clearly in my mind that even putting it down on paper only serves to show that I can’t write as well as I can see…
Here, the picture that sprang to mind was that of the last line. Somehow the rains coupled with a nasty bout of the flu has made me, for the want of a better word, contrary. Anyway, this is the result of lying awake at night, THINKING…
(I really got to stop doing that!)