Musings on a Rainy Afternoon
21 March 2015
Rain. More rain. Always rain. Streaming down the windows, trickling in the gutters, running in rivers along the street. It’s as if the sky has had it heart broken for the first time, and the tears can’t stop pouring forth. Will it ever end? Will the pain ever stop? The people tramp on – it’s just another day for them – heads bowed and collars up as protection against the howling wind, feet soaked from the puddles engulfing the pavement. The cars rush on too, tyres splashing long the road, wipers furiously brushing away the rivulets of water running over them, ploughing forward determinedly. Their drivers, the pedestrians, the whole world grumbles to themselves about the miserable, dreary day.
But with the rain comes hope. The rain washes away the sorrows, the pain lessening with every tear drop that falls; it cleanses and heals and refreshes. It brings the promise that something better is coming, that the sun will shine again. Water is clean and pure, and it wakes up the world from hazy, stuffy slumber, rejuvenating life with a feeling of freshness. The plants stretch beneath the ground, sucking in every drop of that life-giving goodness. Children shriek with laughter as they spin and dance, soaked through to the skin, but without a care in the world. Dogs bound past, careering headfirst into puddles, splashing and barking with joy.
The rain can seem miserable, depressing, a remainder of tears and heartache. Or it can be a life-giver, vital to our world, refreshing and rejuvenating. Watching the rain race down the window pane, creating patterns and maps over the glass, while huddled in layers of warmth, sipping from a steaming mug, can be soothing and pleasant. Or embrace it, run and laugh and play in the water, feel the coldness and the damp soak you through, and remember that you are alive.
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