Rain just rains, it does nothing else. Wisdom just downpour, it does nothing else! And those who get the rain get the miracle hidden inside the sprinkle and create their own miracles.

The sky goes from shady gray to more or less black and noisy thunder snap escort the opening ceremony of few raindrops that plunge. Heavy, gentle, life-size drops, they soak us in seconds, like an inverted bucket from the atmosphere dumping just on our head.

I reach my hands up and out, as if that can stop me getting wetter, and open my mouth, trying to swallow the downpour, till it finally hit us; how amusing it is, my trying to prevent the rain. Happiness like rain can nourish from above, drenching with a soaking joy.

Thoughts and ideas pour through my attentiveness. There were going to be days, I knew, when it would pour without warning, days when I'd find myself without an umbrella. But my awareness would act as my all-purpose raincoat and rubber boots. Whoa, whoa! Hold up, there, kid. Being soaked on your own is frosty.

The sky was back to a milky-grey and the dripping trees were a darker shade of green; but the most striking change— hottest week is gone and the flip flops have found their destination

Gripped with bitter cold, ice-locked, vision blurred with dense fog. The cold sun is just setting bashing some colder lavender hill. I wonder if the snow loves the trees and field, as it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt. The road is soaked with rain and sparkling under the street-lamps, like a lake reflecting strings of lights. A bitter wind, whipped at my face, its howling forming the high notes of symphony. The evening lacked none of winter’s rough poetry.