Summer

The warm breezes are laden with exotic and erotic fragrance of honeysuckle and wild rose. It perfumes the mornings filled with bird song, the sunlit afternoons and mingles with the scent of new mown hay in the evenings.

In the heat and haze of summer afternoons, the buzz of the cicadas in the still oppressive air, are sometimes interruped by the roll of distant thunder. The air is still, leaves wilt in the afternoon heat and the birds send out only half hearted song. Crickets hide in the shade of the pumpkin leaves, creaking out their symphonies.

Suddenly everything goes quiet. No bird song, no buzzing bees or cricket song. The leaves of the trees hang motionless, as if they were not real, only painted on canvass. The air grows to a heavier, almost tactile stillness. The brilliance of the sunshine is covered by a dark blanket of cloud. A flash of lightning, a crash of thunder and a sudden gush of wind stirs the stillness of the valley. The breeze carries with it the fragrance of rain.

As the rain begins to fall you can almost hear a hushed sigh from the thirsty ground and parched leaves. The aroma of damp, hot earth fills the air as the plants drink in the cool rain.