Disappointment
The clouds gather ominously over the Arabian Sea. The breeze picks up errant leaves and dances them along the street. Up and down the busy road, every living thing seems preternaturely alert to the coming storm. The street dogs creep under parked cars, though one is chasing his own tail at the corner. The trees bend in grieving supplication to the breeze, now all grown up and a wind really. The sea is muddy and frothing as it crashes against the old stone wall. Street vendors run to secure their flimsy roofs. An old beggar sinks down under the awning of a shop, fatalistic about the non shelter this will provide in the coming storm. The corner dog noses him briefly before heading down the road, tail jaunty and ears pricked for the grumble of thunder. Newspaper scraps and the odd chips bag channel their inner dervish, as the wind dives and swoops along the seafront. A bolt of lightning out at sea and ten one-thousand’s later, the thunder follows. A faint stench of sulpher and heads look up to track the rain. Umbrellas unfurl, mostly black, some defiantly bright against the grey of the sky and sea and city. The wind dies down, the air grows still. Everyone moves a little faster, keeping two steps ahead of the drenching to follow. The calm before the storm. Or is it? Not this time.
The storm passes the city by, far out at sea. The expectant umbrellas remain dry, the dogs shamefacedly emerge from their shelters and bark ferociously at the mocking seagulls. The trees stop their grieving and regain their composure. The old beggar throws his head back and laughs at a joke only he can hear.
The busy road, emptied a moment ago by the looming clouds, begins to bustle again.