The rain falls impetuously. Silver wires that connect heaven and earth. The water falls with his temperament, it is sometimes slight, fine , and others with power rushes. E 'whipped around by the wind that accompanies it. The air seems to dominate in gusts, but she has the same substance of a prairie of grass bends to peremptory blasts, but after a little again, straight, relentless, fixed.
The rain sound. Up in the sky, just a thought if we were to listen, and do not matter, we heard a rustling, still in its regularity. A talk dense, voice, a buzz. The flutter of a thousand hummingbirds. As soon as it binds to land, on which the earth is populated, the murmur of the rain changes in rhythm, singing, chattering. Regular, insistent, at times hypnotic. It 's so the sound of the monsoon, which has its own peculiar accent in the obsessive repetition of millions of tambourines. It 's a matter vaporous redundant message that sends to the land of the clouds. The land it echoes with its many colorings. The monotonous sound buy new tones from rebounding, the elements are creating new land and rain notes writes a symphony where there was the quiet stillness of the matter.
When vapors, tired, no longer send their frantic messages liquids, the song falls apart, stops the rhythm. The rebounds, the first symphonic dammed on their way, now take on individuality, are recognizable. The symphony is reduced to a trickle of counterpoint. A slow single notes followed by short bursts tinkling, tip, plip plip, titip.
Crrraack! A lightning illuminates the score and reflected on the wet leaves quickly.
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