For four days it rained non-stop. The ram was not very heavy but it kept on coming without letting up. Our neighbours and we were all worried about the possibility of a flood—the levels of the nearby river had been rising steadily.
The next day the river overflowed its banks and the water spread out covering the entire area cm which houses stood. To make-matters worse, debris were caught on the bridge thus impeding the flow of the river. This had the effect of making the flood water rise even faster. The array came and blew a gap on the bridge to clear the blockage and this brought some relief to us.
Nevertheless, the rain continued. It was wet everywhere—the ground, our chairs, beds; wet. We could not do any cooking and had to resort to eating canned food. By about four o’clock in the afternoon, it become obvious that we had to evacuate to higher grounds. If we lingered any longer, we might become trapped by the rising water and then we would really be in trouble. So with a few belongings we trudged through knee-deep water towards a school situated on a hill nearby. The school was temporarily being used as a flood relief centre. When we reached the school we met many of our neighbours who had already gone there earlier. We were provided with food and a place to sleep. All that we could do was to wait for the flood to be over.
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After sitting out two days at the flood relief centre, the flood water finally subsided enough for us to return home. The rain had not actually stopped but was still drizzling slightly, but we were all happy to be able to go home.
What a shock awaited us when we reached home! Instead of the cosy little place we knew so well, we were greeted by a mess of mud and rubbish. It was an unbelievable sight to behold. I could see my bicycle almost fully buried in the mud. Only one handlebar could be seen above the mud. It was mud, mud and more mud everywhere. Yellow sticky mud covered the floor up to ten centimeters, patches of mud on the wall, on the beds, on the TV set, hi the kitchen, inside the locked cupboard everywhere.
So we got down to the tedious job of giving our house a thorough cleaning. All day through—we slogged, sweated and cursed. Still we could not finish the cleaning. By night, the whole lot of us, my parents, my elder brother and younger sister were totally exhausted. Mother, what a wonderful mother she was, still managed to whip up a hot dinner for us despite the chaotic condition of the house. After dinner we fell asleep on our beds. The beds were still damp but nobody complained.
Morning came and we all woke up to a bright and sunny day. I never felt such joy before as we went outdoors to soak in the warm rays of the rising sun. Everything seemed to have enlivened—birds sang, cocks crowed and there was a general ‘aliveness’ in the air. We were in good spirits. Our neighbours too were obviously pleased, as we exchanged fond greetings and hung out our wet clothes to dry in the sun.
We spent the next two days cleaning up our house. We could not totally remove the mud and grime so we did the best we could to make the house a cosy home again. When we finished, father took us to a well known restaurant to have a well-deserved dinner.
Our problems were not all over, as I discovered when we were on our way to town for our “well-deserved dinner.” We could not cross the river for the bridge was not usable. We had to take a long detour to another bridge which made our journey a few kilometres longer.
For more than a year we had to endure the inconvenience of the long detour in coming and going from our area. It also took about that length for time for things to return to normal. New drains were made and most of all the omnipresent slimy mud turned into grass covered soil, so wonderful to walk barefooted on. I suppose this was one way that nature uses to renew itself. Whatever it is, I hope we will not have to go through another flood, it is absolutely no fun.
Describing the rain. I hope to give you all the information you need to write a descriptive scene using the rain.My new book ‘Writing with Stardust’, is now available on Amazon. It is the ultimate descriptive guide for students and teachers. Just click on any of the book images below.
The FULL post with 5 levels can be viewed in PDF by clicking here:
DESCRIBING THE RAIN
I looked out the window. The sky was tar-black and the large clouds were moving towards me. I heard a tapping on the window and then it became a pitter-patter. People ran for cover outside and umbrellas were opened as the clouds spat out their beads of water. Puddles began plinking as the rainfall became heavier. The roofs of the cars danced with spray and I could hear the murmuring of the rain through the window. It sounded like the buzzing of angry bees.
For a Level 2 assignment, more detail should be added. Imagine the effect of the rain on the trees and include more detail on the sky and clouds. At the end of the paragraph, try to write something about the sun coming out. This will vary your writing style.
I quickened my pace as the clouds began to gather in the sky. Up to now, the sky had been postcard-perfect, but it was changing. The beautiful cocktail-blue shade was beginning to darken into gravel-grey. Large pillows of cloud were forming, blotting out the old-gold colour of the sun.
I got the first splatter of rain when I was halfway across the meadow. I took shelter under an old oak, hoping that I could see out the shower. Droplets of moisture began to drip from the leaves. They were sprinkling onto the grass like a gardener’s hose. Then the rainfall became more intense. A wall of rain moved over the oak and the drops were drumming against the canopy. So much rain was falling that the sound blurred into one long, whirring noise. It reminded me of the rotor blades on a helicopter. Eventually, the noise lessened and the drops faded into a musical chime.
The sun came out again, casting slanted beams of light across the meadow. Steam rose slowly from the grass. It rose up eerily and drifted mist-like towards the molten-gold sun. The image was so vivid that it stayed with me all the way home.
Level 3 should conjure up a scene where the rain’s effect can be explored in more detail. The words should get more complex also. An idea might be to visualise a forest scene in autumn, for example. Transport yourself there and describe the colours, the sensations and the sounds of the rain.
It began as a whispering in the air. The day had been beautiful and the sky was like a dome of plasma-blue. The clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of sun.
We had put our tent up just before the Reaper’s moon of autumn appeared over the trees. The moon seemed to turn the leaves into a flaming patchwork of colours: scorching-yellows, lava-reds and burnished-browns. It added an alien glamour to a perfect scene. We heard a greedy thrush, snail a-tapping on rock; he finished his supper before fluttering into the owl-light of the forest. The mournful cry of a lonely fox echoed through the vault-still silence of the trees.
A huffing wind rose up then, stirring the flaps of our tent. A tinkling sound came to our ears as the first pearls of rain dropped onto the leaves. The sound was like the glassy clinking of a champagne flute, lilting and clear. A sheet of rain passed over us and the sound intensified. The noise on the tent was like the phut-phut-phut that ripened nuts make when they hit the ground. It wasn’t the soft, sodden, swollen drops of spring we were hearing; it was like ball-bearings were hitting the canvas roof with force. We could also hear an occasional ker-plunking sound. It was caused by the rainwater gathered on the tent falling to the ground in a great swash of release.
The thermometer plunged as we huddled together and shivered in the tent. For a brief moment, we thought that we might be doomed adventurers, destined to get swept away in a mighty flood. We needn’t have worried. The curtain of rain passed over by the time dawn arrived. An explosion of birdsong erupted from the dripping trees and it was if the rain had never been.
A Level 4 assignment might involve a degree of philosophy. You can discuss how the rain is both life giving and life threatening. The metaphors should be more creative and the turn of phrase made more enriching.
‘The sun enables life. The rain grants it safe passage’.
The winter sky is a widow’s sky, bedarkened and weeping. The clouds are churlish and kraken-cruel. They cough out great gouts of water and thunking balloons of sopping moisture. It teems down in a biblical deluge, flooding the rivers, drowning the fields and overflowing the dams. It is a Noah’s-Ark cataclysm of rain, an unending cataract of water sluicing from the sky. Trees are uprooted, cars go bobbing by and entire villages disappear under a frothy lather of suds. Cities are overwhelmed and electricity blackouts have people living in fear of the unknown. The rain is incessant. It snaps and crackles like bracken pods in a bush fire. The flood-gates in the sky have been opened and no-one is there to close them back up, it seems.
Is this the scene from a sci-fi movie? Is it a terrifying vision of a future world? Indeed it is not. It is the new reality for people from Missouri to Manchester, from Mumbai to Melbourne. The rain is man’s new enemy, according to news reports. It is public enemy number one. It has betrayed man and is now the most destructive arrow in nature’s quiver. The rain has a bad ‘rep’ at the moment. Is this how it should be viewed? Maybe we are forgetting the gifts it bestows upon us.
The spring sky is a fragile, pellucid-blue. The clouds are frail and angel-white. They are carried on a light, ruffling breeze. The soil of Mother Earth is titanium hard and in need of nourishment. A misty rain falls down. It is as frail as a Scottish smirr and its misty dew feels like warm butter melting on a face. As it falls, it unlocks the glassy fingers of winter’s frosty fist, one by one. Flowers slowly unfurl in the meadows and ripple like coral arms at low tide. The rivers exhale with a murmurous purr of satisfaction. The spring rains are here and they are as sinless and glistening as an angel’s tears.
The summer sky is neon-blue and vibrant. The sun-crisped flowers of the meadow are wilting. They gape at the tufty clouds and beg for their parched petals to be given one more shot of insulin. The clouds oblige and rain descends in little gleam-drops of silver. If you were to stand in the meadow, the drops would feel as sparkly and effervescent as champagne bubbles hitting your skin. The sound of the rain is a harmonic thrumming, nature’s white noise. Silver trickles of water seep into the soil, renewing the life-roots of the plants beneath. A homely, baked-earth smell rises from the land as it is washed and cleansed by the dewy tears of summer rain. Petrichor, the smell of the first rains after a dry spell, rises like a miasma. It is a jasmine-and-gingerbread fragrance, warm and fresh, and it laves the land with sweetness. The farmer is happy. The rain has giveth what the sun would taketh away.
The autumn sky is dark and vengeful. Steaming shrouds of cloud coil and writhe. Then an unearthly caterwauling sound fills the air. The wind whips up into frenzy. It is a shrieking, keening omen of the carnage to follow. The clouds race across the sky, thrumming with the charged energy they are desperate to release. It starts with big, sopping drops of moisture. They are wild and indiscriminate, plump missiles of mass destruction that splatter onto the soft soil. The topsoil turns into slushy goo, but it doesn’t matter. The harvest has been taken in and the farmer stokes the glowing coals with a poker and a sigh of contentment. The rain is sissing and hissing off the roof, teeming onto the spongy earth. The farmer thinks about how most gifts come with a cost. He shudders at the thought of another winter, but counts his blessings that the rain has once again ensured his livelihood.
To him, the rain is the nectar of the gods and the serum of the sky. He is neither philosopher nor ancient mariner, neither writer nor jungle adventurer, yet he understands the importance of nature’s bounty.
If beauty is God’s signature, then rain is his final flourish.
Level 5 is available to read on my new book called ‘Writing with Stardust’ which is on Amazon. It also gives the sounds of rain in more detail. Everything on my blog posts AND MUCH, MUCH MORE are included in this book. There are 20 chapters jam-packed with colours, sounds, scents, beautiful phrases and practical tips. It also comes with a fill-in-the-blanks workbook. Hopefully, this post will help those who need guidance on describing the rain. God bless and good luck with your writing!
For much more of the above, please check out my book Writing with Stardust by clicking on the book images..