I left home a little before 6 am as the day was breaking. The lights in the city had just gone out and the rhythm was slowly building up, one bicycle passed by, a car at occasional intervals, but still the sleepiness of the night. As I walked, the birds waking up filled the trees in a cloud of noise and the thunderstorm (another one in just a pair of days) up above, in the distance towards east as the sun rose. The air was fresh with small kisses of rain. I sat for a short while in the park listening to the hurriedly awakening of the birds, the croak of frogs from the lake, and patiently waited for the thunder lights against the soft grey and golden pinkish sky. I walked silently alone in the direction of the fields just on the outskirts of town chasing the storm. In front of me I could not stop noticing the old hills barely visible hiding behind a sheer curtain of misty rain steadily, determined lifting up to another sweltering Summer's day.