Thunderstruck, The Musical

The first stanza of most Paraguayan conversations begin, of course, with the weather.  Then, a brief ceasura is taken for the important business of sipping terere, and the conversation returns da capo to, you guessed it, the weather.

The weather as of late has been nothing but a colossale display of mother nature's symphonic wrath.  For days now I have been jolted awake at night by the duet of thunder and lightening that produces a deep rumbling tenor with haunting vibrado, crecendoing to the deafing stacatto of biblical rains slapping my apartment's uninsulated tin roof.

As I sit here amused by the cacophony of thunder and raindrops that attempt to drown out Thunderstruck by AC/DC blasting on the Paraguayan radio, I wonder if I am witty or just sleep deprived.  Finally, the diminuendo from the forte to the coda of yet another score of nature's magnum opus begins.  The streets are converted into temporary rivers, the timpani drums resonate in the distance, I take a sip of terere and I think to myself, "at least I will have plenty to chat about at work tomorrow."

 -Fin-