Dharamsala Lullabye

It's the first rain since reaching India, the first rain in Dharamsala. Thunder cracks over McLeod Ganj and loudly roars and rumbles downhill to Dharamsala and across the Kangra Valley. The lightning is dramatic, a sharp, bright dorje cutting through the thickly clouded sky into the darkness of the night. The leaves rustle noisily in the wind like the clamor of a thousand small cymbals, and the rain, like a drummer, beats loudly on the tin and slate-tiled rooftops. The cool, damp autumn-leaf smell of the air brings a moment of longing for a leafy stroll in a pumpkin field after a New England rain in October. The candle in my window flickers warm in my darkened room. What more could I ask for tonight than this thunderous lullabye?