Rain

There is something satisfying in rain, in watching behind the window-screen, hands underneath my chin, as droplets plop into the grass and trees, gravel and streets. and against the eaves and tiles. And going outside into those tiny streams, drops collecting into damp sections and dampness into puddles, and puddles into tiny rivulets that pour downhill along streets towards grates or channels. The soggy grass yields beneath my feet and the puddles soak my shoes. It's easier to write in the rain, easier to think and dream and sleep and breathe, sometimes. I feel like the moisture pulls the the smells of life right into the air, and the sweetness of earth and vines, wood and pines.
I like the rain, though many may not. I love the sun as well, and snow - hail and sleet less so, though they are a novelty, sometimes. But rains at night are one of my most favorite things, a beautiful musical prelude to sleep. If only rain combined with stars, I believe I'd be in heaven's arms.

to be continued.