The parched land had dried even further, the sometimes green grass lost all its moisture to turn pale – then brown, the trees had shed their leaves to retain the last drop of sap. The riverbed stands exposed and the lakes vaporised. The birds look for water to quench their thirst, the haggard farmer sits by their home looking at the sun-baked farmland. All skyward facing in hope for the thick grey sheet to cover the blazing sun. This is when the Nimbus arrives. It drains its store to fill all pores. And thus arrives the Monsoon.
