At first I thought fog descended on the valley, but the haze was rain, a drifting curtain of wind-blown rain. Strong winds blew ripples appearing as white patches running across water-logged rice paddies. Decaying thorny vines on the branches were now heaped on the ground. Then a thud. The bunk house shook. There was a loud crack. Another tree fell. On the roof! Amidst nature’s fury is a water buffalo grazing silently on a grassy knoll oblivious to all the destruction around as it continued to chew on grass, and perhaps twigs, and maybe fallen tree barks.