Let it rain, let it pour

Summer rain. I love the sound of it, the smell of it, the release of tension that it brings with it.

The pitter, the patter, the fall of it. The splish, the splash, the slap of it. The various different types of it.

And the unanimous raising of newspapers and plastic bags that comes with it, a damp mexican wave, the creation of makeshift shields from it. The whole calamity of it, the haphazard, hasty need to run from it.

The cries that rise through it, the giggles flooded by it. The numerous socks invaded and disgruntled by it. The soggy toes, the wet noses, the temporarily jewelled roses. The upward glances and wordless advances as an inviting, warm cafe proposes. The condensation on cold glass, the squelch of wet grass, the chance of falling on your…bottom.

The coolness of it, yet the wet warmness of it. So the juxtaposition of it. The nurturing quality of it, hydrating the earth, her absorption of it.

The slickening of hair, the creation of crisp, thick, stubborn strands from it. The new found clingy-ness of clothes as they slump and turn to paper mache in it. And sandals clacking like saturated maracas in it, people getting splattered as cars whoosh through the thick, tidal waves of it.

The romance of it. The prospect of kissing in it, of standing out and getting drenched in it, arms out wide, facing it. Embracing someone, covered in it. Holding hands and racing through it, skipping, dancing in it.

The present tense of it. Drenching. Soaking. Saturating. Pouring. Raining, always demanding a reaction from it. The fire crack across the sky from it’s companion and the rumble from the heart of it. The regularity of it, the soothing fall of it. The reflectiveness of it, the beauty of it, as the city’s lights are smeared and smudged in the midst of it.

The fact that the wellington boot was made for it. The inbuilt need to sing in it, to embody Gene Kelly and his ‘glorious feeling‘ induced by it.

And a child’s little face as they jump in the puddles, the liquid collection of it.

Yes, I love summer rain. The sound of it, the smell of it, and the calm of it; the after the storm bit.

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