it rains in the Himalayas

It rains in the Himalayas. And when it does you are wrapped in nature's wetness. Before it rains the clouds move in. First the white ones, they breathe in, like nature's frosty breath speaking to you, releasing puffs of white mist in your direction. And then the grey clouds come. All peaceful, all beautiful.

The dark clouds usher you to cover. "Find somewhere you like," they say, "and order some Chai. It will rain for a few hours now. Bring a book. Bring paper and pen. Bring the Lonely Planet. Watch how the mountains become mystical and wet. You are so high up now. You are part of the sky. So if it rains a little in your heart too, do not worry. You are nature, and you are nature's seasons. Birth, death, rebirth, you are this too. Your thoughts are this too. Some thoughts are peasants and beggars. Some thoughts are kings. Some live always in the dark clouds, and they bring the rain. Some look always for spring and bring you hope of new thoughts from the sun. New life is born in new thoughts."

And then the rain comes. Everything is white, but also silver, but also green.

Soon you will pay the bill, your toast with jam, your fruit porridge, all your teas, and you will walk into the dripping morning. You will look out into mountains and through your eyes your soul will also look out into the mountains. You will love their soft silhouettes, because in their elusive distant beauty is your metaphor for hope.