Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the skyline.

The palm trees in a row by the streets are smiting their heads against the dismal sky; the crows with their dragged wings are silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the canal is haunted by a deepening gloom.

The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly rushing rain; the water in the canal is loud and impatient.

The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo branches like a wild beast tangled in a net; while the countless droplets explode into an unending banter against the steel-covered awnings.

Now, why is it that whenever it rains, my heart just cringes in pain?