I love rain.
I love being in bed, or sitting at my desk when it rains. I love the sound of the rain drops on my window.
I listen to the pitter patter of the fat raindrops smacking the glass. To the blow of the cool autumn wind that sneaks in my old and leaky window.
I love how they look, slip sliding down the cold glass. I love how they blend into a wet screen that blurs the world behind it.
Rain strikes me as deliciously romantic. There is something refreshing, pure and magical about it. It smells, looks and feels enchanted to me. I wonder why? Thinking about this scientifically would only depress me as it would concretely disillusion me of my happy idea that rain is magical. Same goes for fairies, the Internet and wishes on stars. Don't tell me how it works. It doesn't work, it happens. Let me have my happy pretend and you can have your sad reality.
Rain also strikes me as thoroughly comforting. It's as if all the sadness and brokenness in the world below has been recognized and even the sky mourns it. It is contemplative. It puts us all in a bit of a quieter mood. We stay inside and become observers of the world instead of active forces and participants. Do you know how much we learn just by watching? Never stop watching, no matter what you are doing.
You know there isn't really anything magical about the way my hair looks after a quick run to and from the car in the rain, nor is there anything refreshing about having wet socks after accidentally stepping into a puddle. But this is still life, after all. My happy magical ideas only last so long. I may be an idealist, but I do have some touch with reality.
Right now, the world is in that "post-rain" state. Everything is wet, water sliding off roofs and leaves, the whole world is damp. Not nearly as nice as when it's actually raining. But it's not so bad... good conditions for a rainbow. Which, by the way, is also on the list of things that is magical, no matter what anyone says.