A dense cluster of leaves of the trees in the wood turn upward in anticipation of the impending precipitation. Branches waggle, yes, and no, thrust back and forth, urged up and down by a sub-tropical breeze, while the bluish-purple sky dims and rain droplets rattle on the sky-light and pepper the bleached white cement walk. It is humid, yet cool. There is a sense of stillness: yet simultaneously, a frenetic energy boasting of what may come. A distant boom and the rustling of tens of thousands of leaves softly sounds the eve. Waiting… waiting… for come what may.