The drops of rain were still jumping on the balcony, tapping very rhythmic, yet not too loud a melody. Through the half-open window Farhan, a young composer, could still hear the rumbles of thunder, each beat being followed by zigzags of lightning. Just a while ago, a severe storm swept everything around.

Lightning was tearing the skies, while the enraged thunder roared from the heavy clouds that hang ominously low, almost covering the city. But now his small garden, dull and lifeless an hour ago, has wonderfully metamorphosed. Dried soil, grass and trees clenched their thirst and now were glowing with a healthy sheen. There was a peculiar peacefulness in the air, and everything around looked prettier.

He stood by the window, enjoying the fresh air and thought that such short, but intense bursts of emotions are necessary even to the Nature to change for the better.

“All that I have heard a few minutes ago was like a kind of spontaneous wonderful music!” he wondered.

Indeed, the rain symphony had all the movements that a complete music piece possesses — overture, exposition and finale. The overture, or introduction, covered all the signs that precede the storm; it warned and urged all the living beings to seek a shelter without wasting time. Its major part — exposition — was the heavy rain itself, which like a musical avalanche, cascades from the sky. One could find everything in this orchestra: tinkling of raindrops, rustle of leaves, howling of the wind and, of course, thunder. Its rumble, like huge cymbals or drum beats, reached the farthest corners of the city. And the flashes of the lightning! Real colour music, illuminating the night sky!

“Perhaps storms, like great symphonies, also have skilful, though invisible, conductor who unifies performers, sets the tempo and shapes the sound?” Farhan admired.

Here the maestro takes position on the stand and slightly waves his thin baton, sending the trees into a tremble, initially barely audible, but then gradually the tempo increases. The leaves rustle impatiently, while their stems — like basses and cellos — anxiously chant in accord, as if calling for something inevitable and irreversible. But, wait! The invisible conductor didn’t complete his masterpiece; he only gave the musicians a short interval after the prelude!

The magic stick is raised again to make fast, but confident movements, and these bright lines of fire in the night sky cause the flood of myriads of sonorous raindrops from heaven. And the next moment, there pours in the music of the rainfall, loud and energetic at a time, and slow and melancholic at another. One can distinguish violins and cellos, flutes and bassoon and, of course, crisp voices harps in the falling water. The movements of maestro become more vigorous, his magic baton dances faster, taking the rainfall orchestra to the new highs, each strike accompanied by the rumble of thunder.

But as every show has an ending, so does thunderstorm. It is a finale now, and after few gentle slowing motions, the brilliant conductor lowers his stick. The lightning, having exposed the sky for the last time, recedes to the horizon.

Storm, as well as its music, is over now. Nature, having cherished the magnificent performance, is still tranquil. The clouds begin to float away and birds begin to chip and fly around. And sun shyly re-emerges in the sky, now clear from the recent musical show.

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