Musings: Rain

It's one of those things that just exist. It doesn't need explaining. It doesn't need anyone to watch it. In fact, it doesn't care if anyone does. It's inevitable - even deserts get rained on. It doesn't care if it inconviences anyone. It doesn't try to help. It doesn't try to hinder. It just is.

And it's special.

It's just rain.
It comes in many different ways.

Gentle showers, caressing anything and everything it touches, leaving you feeling lazy and sated when it leaves.
Unexpected, like someone you haven't seen in ages, someone that makes you laugh, that leaves you wondering why they don't visit more often even as they wander off again - and you're still smiling when they go.
Slow, sad almost, mourning for some unknown, maybe for someone who loved it but has moved on.. what better a tribute?
Fierce, frightening rushes, here and gone, leaving terror and debris in its wake.
Strong, unbeatable - the ultimate mystery, awesome and horrifying at one and the same time.
It's still just rain.
You can play in it, laughing like a child, wishing you dared undress and streak naked in it.
You can avoid it, worse as a cat, sour and dull when it comes.
You may love it, always looking forward to it, delighted when it comes, understanding when it stays away.
You may hate it, annoyed when it's here and when it isn't.
You might do a lot of things.
But it's just rain.
You can't stop it; you'd be laughed at if you tried. It listens to no one; independence in purest form. I couldn't care less that the whole world is dependent on it. It's not haughty, nor cruel, nor anything else.
It's just rain.
It's as good an excuse as any for doing those little things you somehow never find time for, like curling up in a blanket with a book you've promised to read. Or to remind that special someone how much you care. To spend time with family. To live.
Amazing that it's just rain.
It inspires. It defeats. It's beautiful. It's ugly.
It happened long before you ever lived.
It will happen long after you cease to do so.
It won't stop for you, or me, or anyone else. It's independent.
It couldn't be more real, all the while making everything else seem less so.

Revealing itself, hiding others. You never know what might be out in the rain.
Could be bad.
Could be good.
Still, it's just rain.
It means nothing.
But-- it means everything, too.
Maybe it means you. Maybe it means your mom. Your dad. Your brother. Or sister. Your lover. A complete stranger.
Maybe it means anyone. Maybe it means everyone.
Or perhaps, it means no one at all.
It's just rain.
Impossible, wonderful, boring, beautiful.


I wrote this when I should've been going to sleep, but my muse hit me with it while I was eating breakfast yesterday (September 30, '05) and I liked the idea so much I wrote it. I changed a few things in typing it up, like the paragraph spacings and a few sentences. But it's still essentially what I was thinking, looking out at the rain. Hope you like it,