Chilly wind, the smell of wet earth, lush green and the sound of raindrops pitter-pattering, everything outside washed and glistening, the pigeon on the windowsill and the grey, dark, melancholy sky.
The first rain of the year.
There's something so profoundly and beautifully inspiring about rain, maybe because its a reminder of one of the many facets of the beautiful planet we live in. The urge to embrace and express this beauty through art, words and music hits with the sound of raindrops. We channel our beauty through that of nature.
Rain is Raag Brindavani Sarang played on the sitar, watercolour paintings of flowers and leaves and dewdrops, a fountain pen running across the pages of a notebook, and the intricate but simple beauty of mathematics and the laws of physics.
It manages to unchain thoughts we otherwise couldn't express, talents we never knew we had.
It's a beautiful sunday I'm fortunate enough to enjoy, curling up with some good old Famous Fives I never get tired of. They take me back to my childhood, transport me to another time while the cold rainy wind blows in.
The first rain of the year.
There's something so profoundly and beautifully inspiring about rain, maybe because its a reminder of one of the many facets of the beautiful planet we live in. The urge to embrace and express this beauty through art, words and music hits with the sound of raindrops. We channel our beauty through that of nature.
Rain is Raag Brindavani Sarang played on the sitar, watercolour paintings of flowers and leaves and dewdrops, a fountain pen running across the pages of a notebook, and the intricate but simple beauty of mathematics and the laws of physics.
It manages to unchain thoughts we otherwise couldn't express, talents we never knew we had.
It's a beautiful sunday I'm fortunate enough to enjoy, curling up with some good old Famous Fives I never get tired of. They take me back to my childhood, transport me to another time while the cold rainy wind blows in.
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