I love rain. Calming, soothing, cleansing, nourishing, flooding.

I love listening to it, watching it. Falling on leaves, bending them down for a split second per drop; like high-fiving them; falling on stone, on soil, on water. For each material of destination it makes a different sound, forms a different pattern: on stone it paints it, revealing the darker color, forming puddles eventually; on soil it also paints it darker, first forming little craters and then getting absorbed really quickly, making mud; on water it outlines thousands of concentric circles before getting digested by it’s own element, sucking everything into a weird shaped parallel universe that is mirrored on the broken surface. Or maybe it’s the real shape? 

Looking against the white clouds on the sky you can see the direction the rain is falling from. Or does it always come down inclined from left to right? Going straight down when it becomes heavier? In front of a darker background the drops get absorbed as if nature takes them back immediately. You were once mine before you ascended into the sky. Welcome back.


Hissing, whispering, splashing, plinking, dripping, roaring, knocking. Pulsing, gurgling, splashing. Finding it’s way deep down into the ground no matter what’s in it’s way. Hugging roots, letting them drink from it. Take a sip. 

Letting the blue sky appear again, rinsed clean. And while the last drops drip from the leaves their siblings are already on the way up again, pulled into the air by the sun. To become clouds that will eventually realise above another piece of this earth. 

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