There is something profoundly magical about them. These countless dust-like tricklets, descending with detached purpose unto the waiting ground, barely visible, barely audible yet distinctly felt. There is something in the way they fall, lightly but quickly, onto the leaves, the windows and the slanting roofs, coagulate into masses of clear liquid, without shape, without form, rolling and tumbling, until they accidentally fall off unto the air once more, little perfect spheres of glass which, almost faster than the eye could see, vanish amidst the countless playful ripples dancing upon the puddles on the floor.
There is something in this quiet, lively display of lifeless substances that soothes the mind as surely as it fills the air with that fresh taste of humid chill. There is music being plaid here; soft, delicate and enchanting, audible only to the silent, undistracted listener.
How many rainy days have I left outside my window?
1 comment:
Glad to see that you've finally taken time to er... smell the raindrops? Lol.
Nice piece of writing, btw. :)
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