There is a contemplative nature to rain. Not sure if it has to do with washing away the dust and filth that coats our minds, allowing the trueness to shine or blacken. Not sure if it has to do with making songs seem that much more somber, more meaningful, more about melancholic reflection than inspiration. Not sure if I just like the rain.
My ode to rain is such that there isn’t really a tale to be told here. Yes, there are songs on the radio that seem to have greater resonance. Yes, I slept through the night even though I drank a bottle of wine last night (counter-intuitive to logic, I didn’t drink the previous two nights and slept like crap…). Yes, I still have to enter work in fifteen minutes, see faces that scar and faces of scars (another colleague yesterday floored me: her parents are divorcing after four decades together and her mother is going into rehab – things that she clearly wanted to get off of her chest but did not have the outlet, until I asked how she was…). However, none of these is what this is about. It isn’t really about anything actually, just thought. Just contemplation.