The sound of not-to-distant thunder rumbles toward the west where the clouds are dark and threatening. Lightning lights up the twilight sky as if a million camera flashes are going off all at once. The smell of rain is in the air. A burst of wind brings the leaves on the poplar trees alive – a sound similar to the arrival of rain. The thunder rolls on – becoming distant, the night creatures turn the forest into a cacophony of percussion-sounding instruments. The rain is coming. Slowly. The rain drops gently tap the metal roof. The mountain air is cool and fresh.
(My first night back in the mountains of Western North Carolina after five weeks in tropical Timor-Leste)