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They say the rain smells of petrichor: a pleasant earthy scent from rain falling on dry soil. Oils from certain plants seep into the ground, and are absorbed. The rain releases this oil, and another chemical compound, called Geosmin. This is produced by the bacteria Streptomyces, and several cyanobacteria when they die. Geosmin is the main component of the petrichor scent.
Rainy days carry other scents with them too. Those of brewing coffee or tea, whichever you may prefer, and always that warm, comforting smell of freshly baked something, acting as the sun on whichever day the rain decides to fall.
There also always seems to be that ephemeral and evanescent, hard to grab sensation; that ignited spark of wanderlust when gazing out one's window into the crystal drops. And always the swirling dust in real sunlight, after the clouds have parted. That kind of dust that points you in the direction of a good book.
The works in this book are inspired by such things, though they are all still mere drafts of course; captured fleeting thoughts. Many are also inspired by music, for what is rain without the accompaniment of a symphony, or the idle stains of piano and harp?
