I’m sitting in silence, in my room, gazing out my window at the rain. The sounds of the city are muffled, the air is heavy and humid with a scent all its own. The colours of the leaves and of the buildings are more vivid, more clear, as if the tarnish of the city has been washed away by the raindrops.
I love this kind of rain. The kind of rain that brings an intense, delicious calm, a tranquility so profound you cannot help but be lured by it. It’s exquisite in its beauty. This kind of rain where it feels like I am the only person in existence, living a pure, serene life permeated with the beauty of nature and moments of stillness and epic calm.
I love this rain. It brings moods of wonder, of creativity, of nurture, of comfort.
This rain is a music all its own…the sound of the raindrops on leaves, on roofs, against windows. The sound of car tires against the rain-soaked roadways. I love that sound.
But mostly, I love the smell of this rain. The muddled scent of wet earth, of grass and leaves, of pavement and the slightest remnants of spice. It’s a smell that reminds me of hot summer days as a child seeking refuge from the rain under the giant pine trees of the farm. It reminds me of summers in the city with my grandparents, splashing about in the streams of water running down the streets. It reminds me of how the depths and bowels of the city can, for a few moments, feel eerily peaceful.
I love this rain.
marina featherstone 