Feeling the cold touch my skin as the rain fell outside my window, I wonder how it would be if I took a walk outside in the downpour. It's been awhile since I had a nice walk under grey stormy clouds, and it would be a welcome change to the comfort of home.
The melodic rhythm of the falling beads strum chorus after chorus, enchanting the neighborhood with the song of life, taking the dry soils and leaves and displacing them onto their next destinations; flooding the roads like broken dams unleashing its wrath on the river banks; stubborn like the teenager insisting on the newest mobile phone.
And the harsh winds follow - I've already heard the flowerpots outside fall from their towers. I open my window to them them all in, and lie in bed enjoying the evergreen classic.
Rain, shine, rain, then shine again - it's a perfect cycle we live through day after day, hour after hour, moment after insignificant moment. And to counter the mundane we invent drama, the arts, technology, alternate realities; fiction.
You have stayed silent, dear rain, but I know your true potential. In your nature I see creation; in your actions I see provocation; in your being I seek improvement.
It's a pity all we ever talk about are umbrellas or sheltered walkways.