I was three when they said that the rain brings luck and from then on, as everyone else complained, hated, and felt sad when there is rain, there I was on my window with the gray skies up above, warm and smiling. I love when it rains.
I feel like butter melting on freshly toasted bread. I like the feeling of hugging myself, feeling the wooly texture of my thick red sweater, smelling the notes of my perfume and the room filling with the aroma of hot cocoa or freshly brewed coffee beans. And then I get to that somnumbelent mood, listen to slow jazz songs, Miles Davis on the trumpets, John Coltraine on the saxophones and read a book by Milan Kundera, Fyodor Dostoevsky or Leo Tolstoy. The jazz droning on, and when my eyes get tired from all the reading, I look at our old pictures and think of the best rainy days I have had in this life – those when I had you near me and we filled the streets or the room with our laughter and conversation. Then I come to think of it, that without you, it is an unbearable drought, and the rains mean that the heavens are crying. Days and days without you, it felt like an undending drought.
And then it pours again.
A soft drizzle. A comforting chill.
This time bringing life again. A new and deep breath of life.
The soil is once again made rich and flowers wet and fresh in the morning to come. The smell of the earth when it rains, it smells fertile, alive and luscious. It breathes in new life and enriches the land with life to thrive as it enters the veins of plants and reaches its tips to grow into beautiful flowers and sweet fruits.
The rain brings life, breathing a wind, washing away the dust and ashes, ending the drought.