The sun is not up. The rainclouds have covered its rays.
It is raining. Hard, strong and willful.
This road I am treading is flooded with rain. I can smell its angst.
Petrichor, they say.
No, it isn't. I responded to them.
I don't sense pleasantness in this rain.
It isn't joyful at all.
I can sense pain in this rain. Look how willful it hits us. Look how devastating it sounds.
The rainclouds are crying.
Let it cry. Let it vent out its feelings.
This too shall pass. Then, a rainbow will come.
