By Sylvia Marie B. Equio
My mobile phone alarm beeped at 6:22 in a gloomy, rainy morning in Buglas.
No heavy winds, just steady rainfall.
Clouds got thinner and whiter as the rain kept on pouring;
Revealing a sunless sky,
Yet not dimming the daybreak an hour before.
No frogs were croaking,
But the cows were busy mowing the grass over the fence;
Despite the not-so-cheerful weather.
Birds still flew over the horizon,
Never minding the cold wet day.
Dewdrops were plentiful; so full that the colorful roses drooped to its heaviness,
Though the leaves of nearby trees welcomed the downpour;
As it washed out the smog and dust of days past.
Roots above the soil, woodsy in appearance, eagerly drank each falling rain,
from weeklong thirst, and from the harsh, scorching sun.