monsoons bring their own unique romance to the mountains, neither comparable to the pure white vistas of winter nor quite like the salubriousness of spring or autumn… the summers preceding them are not really scorching but still do tend to get on one’s nerves that the rains pacify, beginning with the petrichor and then moving on to scrubbing the dusty landscapes clean, laying forth vivid contrasts against the grey skies… they can be terrifying too though, gushing bursts of water laying havoc to anything in their path, landslips toying with the seemingly immovable… traditional wisdom usually moves in ways so as to best avoid their wrath, but we seem to want roads to every nook and cranny these days instead…

the rain itself is enjoyable only for a brief period of time though, prolong it and one starts to get impatient… ‘tis rather what it leaves behind that captivates the heart and nudges poesy… the moments where the clouds are still hanging around after disposing off their wares and the fauna shakes the water off to resume foraging…

the canopies get a symmetry as the clouds bring the horizon closer to the ground… the different hues of green breathe in the mist and get intoxicated, the contrast a bit mellowed as a consequence… a sense of brooding hangs in the stillness of the air, which may go away if the skies clear or might stay awhile if drizzle sustains…

above the treeline, ‘tis a game of veils being drawn and lifted… their translucence as much an invitation as a conundrum… to prod the fog and let its treasures tumble or lose one’s way to dead ends precarious… in such weather, time tend to coalesce, the past is clearer as the present is vague, and the future is not as relevant as the present…

in agrarian vistas, the hustle bustle restarts slowly, for rains beget lethargy… a time out of sorts bestowed by nature on all that is animate to stay put and contemplate awhile on the order that is chaos and the chaos that breeds order, for to maintain symmetry, of life and the planet, the forces of weather are ironically induced by asymmetries…

elsewhere, other sentients go about quenching their thirsts… enlivened by the showers they seem to revel in transience, their own and of the world around them… driven by the urgency to procreate, unflustered by lurking predators… after rains they celebrate life and life alone, as if the inhibitions have been washed away… a kind of tranquillity in motion – floating clouds intermingling with static massifs – is what rains leave in their wake…

musings on rains in mountains…