The sky over Santiniketan has turned grey and a yellow heaviness has filled the yard outside my window. One minute a slight breeze comes through, the next I feel the humidity spike and I start to sweat, then relief descends again.
Thunder has just begun to rumble and it seems almost certain now that a downpour is imminent.
This morning at Antaranga I made machines with my class three kids. Using their imaginations and their bodies, this group of 7 year olds first made a bicycle, working out all the intricate parts that come together to make the whole.
Next, I took a leap and wondered if they could make a machine to make rain, blessed rain, rain that my heat soaked body craves with each additional degree on the thermometer. I asked the students what parts we would need for such a contraption. One girl cottoned onto the idea right away and raised her hand and volunteered to be the water. Next, two girls decided to be the bowl that held the water, this was followed by a gal who was the wood that made the fire that heated the water. Of course, vapor made by the heated water followed, then two boys stood on a chair and started booming like thunder-clouds and, finally, the last two girls stood up and magically transformed into rain dancing on the ground.
I don't want to get ahead of myself here and I don't take any credit, but if it starts to rain today, then tomorrow I'm asking those genies at Antaranga to become a machine that makes cool breezes, and peace, and an anti-nuclear meltdown reactor, and vast green fields of rice and mustard seed and whatever else the villagers around here need to build robust and healthy lives, and, just for fun, a transporter so I can pop over and see my Mom and then get a margarita with all my friends in Seattle, then see my niece in NYC, then come back here and finish my trip.
The breezes are kicking up.
Lightening is striking.
Thunder is rolling.
What is going to happen? What is going to happen?
Thunder has just begun to rumble and it seems almost certain now that a downpour is imminent.
This morning at Antaranga I made machines with my class three kids. Using their imaginations and their bodies, this group of 7 year olds first made a bicycle, working out all the intricate parts that come together to make the whole.
Next, I took a leap and wondered if they could make a machine to make rain, blessed rain, rain that my heat soaked body craves with each additional degree on the thermometer. I asked the students what parts we would need for such a contraption. One girl cottoned onto the idea right away and raised her hand and volunteered to be the water. Next, two girls decided to be the bowl that held the water, this was followed by a gal who was the wood that made the fire that heated the water. Of course, vapor made by the heated water followed, then two boys stood on a chair and started booming like thunder-clouds and, finally, the last two girls stood up and magically transformed into rain dancing on the ground.
I don't want to get ahead of myself here and I don't take any credit, but if it starts to rain today, then tomorrow I'm asking those genies at Antaranga to become a machine that makes cool breezes, and peace, and an anti-nuclear meltdown reactor, and vast green fields of rice and mustard seed and whatever else the villagers around here need to build robust and healthy lives, and, just for fun, a transporter so I can pop over and see my Mom and then get a margarita with all my friends in Seattle, then see my niece in NYC, then come back here and finish my trip.
The breezes are kicking up.
Lightening is striking.
Thunder is rolling.
What is going to happen? What is going to happen?
2 comments:
Oh, this is marvelous! What a good writer you are. WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?
Love that imagery!
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