Past six yesterday, unusually ( or usual for the natives here, perhaps) the breeze began to mature and the band of prayerflags erected on the hill fluttered with so enormous decibel that I felt as if someone was flapping a clothe sheet swiftly behind the door. The wind blend with the rain, swooped low to ground, sweeping and scattering light loads away. The plastic windproof of our windows, pasted just a day after reaching here, made a ghastly drama - of being pressed and pulled back by unseen force. And it showed poor promise too.
Like a hungry and thousand years starved monster, the wind roared outside that lasted almost for an hour. Obviously, it's cold. Being in a sleeping bag, it's little cozy.
After the wind, as long the sky had been impregnated, the pittar-patter started on the roof like a thousand little unseen feet dancing to the tune of the little storm. It rained. And Darla, as it would remain for most part of a year, goes cold again.
*Be warm folks.*