Rain amplifies your mistakes, and water on the track can make your car handle unpredictably. When something unpredictable happens you have to react to it; if you’re reacting at speed, you’re reacting too late. And so you should be afraid.
If I were standing right beside her, I probably would have heard her heart breaking. It would have sounded like the cracking of a wooden bat connecting with a baseball. No, that was too clean of a break. It would have sounded like rain from a powerful thunderstorm pounding on a tin roof. Millions of drops relentlessly pounding away on the surface until it shattered into billions of tiny pieces. Pieces Emily couldn’t put back together by herself.
It’s all nonsense. It’s only nonsense. I’m not afraid of the rain. I’m not afraid of the rain. Oh, oh, God, I wish I wasn’t.’ She was crying. I comforted her and she stopped crying. But outside it kept on raining.
I don’t know if there is actually more rain here in England, or if it was just that the rain seemed to be so deliberately annoying. Every drop hit the window with a peevish “Am I bothering you? Does this make you cold and wet? Oh, sorry.
Not even a cat was out. The rain surged down with a steady drone. It meant to harm New York and everyone there. The gutters could not contain it. Long ago they had despaired of the job and surrendered. But the rain paid no attention to them… New York people never lived in houses or even in burrows. They inhabited cells in stone cliffs. They timed the cooking of their eggs by the nearest traffic light. If the light went wrong, so did the eggs…
Thursday afternoon, the dark clouds closed in, and by Friday morning a heavy rain was falling. The mountain peaks were hazy sentinels, disappearing into misty fog that clung to the valley.
A beautiful rain is a treasure box. Inside this magical box there is an artistic umbrella, there is a pretty rainbow, there is a sweet bird singing and there is a lovely smell of earth! Something wonderful has a great potential to create some other wonderful things!
There’s a passage in John Steinbeck’s “East of Eden
It is raining blood today.
I open my book and write “Black Lives Matter
All this waiting.
Waiting for the rain to
stop. Waiting in traffic.
Waiting for the bill.
Waiting at the airport
for an old friend.
Waiting to depart.
there’s the big waiting:
waiting to grow up. Waiting
for love. Waiting to show your
your parents that when you
have kids you’ll be different.
Waiting to retire. Waiting for
Why do we think waiting
is the antithesis of life
when it is almost
all of it?