I’ve missed the rain, the quiet security of knowing (gloating) that you’re warm and dry when the sky is feeling rather unsettled. It’s so poetic, rain. Even that word;
r – a – y – n – e
- stretches my jaw as if I’m trying to steal the droplets, before they melt into the soil. So fascinating; the way it falls. All that movement like creases in crushed velvet; creases that nobody admires but it has a gentle, natural beauty to it. I just want to leave-it-alone. And that light fragrance it leaves behind, spray coaxing out the perfume from the grass. I may be having one of the most tense, stressful days of my life but I feel (insipidly) elegant disturbing those puddles with no make up on and a tired smile.