There's something comforting and magical about the rains whether you are running around getting soaked to the skin, revelling in the downpour, or just sitting indoors, steaming cup of coffee or tea or any hot beverage on hand, just watching the showers from afar, comfortably nestled in warm, dry clothes.
Personally, I'm more inclined to enjoy the rains from outside (or would that be inside?), dry and warm. While I absolutely love watching the droplets of almost-pure water leap from the skies, gather momentum and nosedive straight to the earth below, I find more joy and peace watching rain slap against glass - the larger droplets, fat and angry, bouncing off the window panes with a loud rhythmic tap-tap-tap, like Gene Kelley on speed.
Or there is the quiet beauty of the tinier, gentler droplets landing gracefully on the panes, and a sliding down gently, leaving behind long streaks of liquid footprints - like bulging cracks across the clear glass.
And then there are the tinier droplets still, which won't streak their way down the glass - stubborn little globules of cloudy tears, which stick to the glass as if with a clear adhesive. The same droplets like tiny crystals, which leave the glass looking like a brightly - sequinned sheer veil.
And how about the droplets of water coursing through the surfaces, hanging on to the edges of tarps and window sills, ready to drop in a splash? The beautiful glittering droplets, with a tiny reflection of the world trapped inside them, upside down, sparkling in the light like the crystals of a natural chandelier.
Or the rain splashing down with plip-plops of glee, upon the puddles in the streets, leaving behind these tiny expanding ringlets, which vanish into the water, beautiful, yet barely there for a moment. Here's one, and there's another - and now they're both gone, and there's yet another one.
There is something eerie and cathartic about watching a strong downpour from the comfort of a closed, warm room (or a vehicle). Something about the stream of cascading water wishing out your view of the world gently, almost with a comforting promise of a cleaner world once it's work is done. And of course, there is some truth to it after all. Watching the watery distortion of the familiar scenes through the haze of the glass, the stream of flowing water and the curtains of the rain - the Dali-esque surreal scene with melting buildings and wobbly trees. Call me simple, but I can't imagine a lot of more beautiful scenes.
Did I mention I love the rains?
Personally, I'm more inclined to enjoy the rains from outside (or would that be inside?), dry and warm. While I absolutely love watching the droplets of almost-pure water leap from the skies, gather momentum and nosedive straight to the earth below, I find more joy and peace watching rain slap against glass - the larger droplets, fat and angry, bouncing off the window panes with a loud rhythmic tap-tap-tap, like Gene Kelley on speed.
And then there are the tinier droplets still, which won't streak their way down the glass - stubborn little globules of cloudy tears, which stick to the glass as if with a clear adhesive. The same droplets like tiny crystals, which leave the glass looking like a brightly - sequinned sheer veil.
And how about the droplets of water coursing through the surfaces, hanging on to the edges of tarps and window sills, ready to drop in a splash? The beautiful glittering droplets, with a tiny reflection of the world trapped inside them, upside down, sparkling in the light like the crystals of a natural chandelier.
Or the rain splashing down with plip-plops of glee, upon the puddles in the streets, leaving behind these tiny expanding ringlets, which vanish into the water, beautiful, yet barely there for a moment. Here's one, and there's another - and now they're both gone, and there's yet another one.
There is something eerie and cathartic about watching a strong downpour from the comfort of a closed, warm room (or a vehicle). Something about the stream of cascading water wishing out your view of the world gently, almost with a comforting promise of a cleaner world once it's work is done. And of course, there is some truth to it after all. Watching the watery distortion of the familiar scenes through the haze of the glass, the stream of flowing water and the curtains of the rain - the Dali-esque surreal scene with melting buildings and wobbly trees. Call me simple, but I can't imagine a lot of more beautiful scenes.
Did I mention I love the rains?
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