Warm rain pours off the roof, coming in cascades, creating a racket. It overflows the gutters and hurries off toward its destiny, the Caribbean, swirling in eddies, backing up in ditches, and pooling in the yard.
    The shower forms a curtain in front of the house, wind gusting in from the north. At first spidery wisps blow onto the veranda, but suddenly the wind picks up and knocks over a potted plant. The owners scurry to right it and cover their wooden furniture with plastic sheets until the squall passes. Electrical charges split the sky with running light and the resounding rifle shot of thunder simultaneously overhead tears through dense and inky thunderheads. It cleaves the world asunder and the rumble caroms off to the south.  Their three dogs curl their tails under, and with heads down and eyes squinted they slink under the house to nestle themselves safely in dry  burrows.
    At the edge of the forest canopy a toucan and two parrots have stopped their usual commotion. They sit huddled in the branches of an enormous mango tree, each cocking its head as rain pelts down around them. Deep within the mossy jungle a howler monkey bellows his complaint: the faint echo of another returns his objections.
    And down by Punta Mona a young tourist and his girlfriend are caught off guard and flounder knee-deep in mud. The boy with his blonde hair pasted to his forehead wishes they had taken the launch that left two hours earlier but doesn’t relate his concerns to the girl. No telling how long this trek will take, and he’s not certain they are on the right route. He wipes the moisture from his eyebrows and looks again for snakes before forging ahead through the red muck. The girl is concerned, too; the rain is coming harder now, whipping their faces. The wind howls overhead swaying palm tops, and she wishes they were safe and dry in their rented cabin. The little village is far away and it will be dark before long.