There is a soft roar outside my window, a steady drop of water against a soaked ground. The rustle of satin against itself. It’s consistent, never ceasing. When it has gone, in lieu of a brief sunny morning, the absence is deafening. Like white noise, or the drone of a fan. No longer noticed, but the comfort missed when left silence.
The rain has been here for weeks now. So long that I have forgotten when it first began. In the beginning, I was over joyed with the constant rain. I love rain. It’s calming and grounding. It’s like a damping field, to dreading the electricity from bouncing and running wild. AS it is, weeks and weeks have gone by. Almost everyday it rains. Sometimes it starts with sun but often it is engulfed by the persistent clouds and again the rain falls. Other days the sun clears for a moment of sunset before the night shrouds and the rain continues.
The sun has become a forgotten memory. When it arrives it’s like trying to grasp on to something you remember but can’t place. It feels so familiar and yet so unknown. A forgone story lost to time. And yet, still it is comforting. A time of replenish. Everything is so green. Greener then I have seen it in a long time. The earth sings with happiness as the abundance of water. (Although the flowers fight to bloom, the rain forces them into a bow.)
Rain. Days go by and still it rains. And yet, when it finally ends, I shall miss it.