Lavale
Lavale is beautiful.
It rains all the time here. Well, it did till about a week ago. It doesn’t pour. It doesn’t rain cats and dogs. It drizzles.
You know, ‘drizzle’ isn’t the right word either. What you get here is silken rain – the kind that you would want to fall softly on your face, as you look up to see the dark grey clouds hurry across the sky.
The mountains and the massive valley are many shades of green. It’s straight out of a catalogue for nail paint. They change colour with the moods of the sun and the clouds as they play hide & seek. They are like a chameleon with a limited spectrum.
The mist is mysterious. It comes and goes as it pleases. You can see it slowly creeping up the side of the mountain like a giant, thousand-legged monster. It consumes you when you walk into it. A student getting late for class, a couple holding hands – all of them disappear. It’s like Narnia.
The Academic Block gets devilish by night. It looks like a concoction of red haze, darkness and the occasional flicker of white. Your spine would tingle if you were here. I could call it hell, but hell couldn’t feel so cold.
They say you learn a lot, discover yourself here in the calm. I’ve learnt that this is a good place to be at.
Lavale feels almost exotic.
Confuseus Say 
beautiful