Something about the way rain is put into words just doesn't seem right,
For you see rain isn't simply a grayscale sky, the sun hidden behind the thick, dark mist of the clouds above us,
It isn't simply the pitter pattering of water overflowing from those puffy, electrified curtains or the darkening of the cement with each splatter of wetness,
Nor is it always warm or cold or fast or slow,
There's so much more to it,
There's that smell that comes before the rain that beautiful blueish Gray the clouds in the distance offer as a warning for what is to come,
The way the breeze carries the answer to the warmth of the silky droplets and the smell of the places they've seen,
The liquified crystals on each leaf and branch, the beads of shining silver on a spiders web that make you feel the life they bring,
There's something about the smell of rain that tells you everywhere it's been and the direction it will go, something of the cultures it carries the ghost of,
Something in the way it washes each child's chalk masterpiece away to make room for the next,
The footprints left in the now dampened earth that tell such a tale of where the person who made them was going, a shadow looking into the past of what once was.
You see rain isn't such a gloomy, dull thing as most believe, it is life itself,
The most complex concept to ever cross the minds of those around us,
Isn't that just beautiful?
