From the west of mount Rwenzori clouds coming hurrying with the wind and storms of blatant impossibilities and turn sharply here and there like a plague of locusts. The dark nimbus clouds roar and vomit large volumes of rain droplets intermingled with bright fantastic lightning across the horizon. It whirls and tosses up things on its tail like a madman chasing nothing. Romantic twin pregnant clouds ride stately  across the rainbow spectrum gathering to perch on trees, hills and mountains like bright romantic wings of grace. The wind whistles by and trees bend to let it pass.
In the countryside joyful screams of delighted children toss and turn in the din of the whirling wind. Dancing and jumping to and fro to welcome a heavy down pour of cats and dogs. And of women babies clinging on their backs - dart about in and out madly. The wind whirls by whilst trees bend to let it pass. Clothes wave like tattered flags flying off to expose dangling breasts as jaggered blinding flashes rumble, tremble, and crack amidst the smell of fired smoke and the pelting march of the storm.

By Bishop Love

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