The sound of rain on the roof when I wake in the morning is almost as good as the sound of the rain on the roof when I'm about to go to sleep. Lying in bed with the rain falling is like being sung to sleep by the sky; waking to the rain is to wake to the promise of a day out of the ordinary.

As I get ready for the day I can look out the window and see the puddles, and the falling droplets, and notice that the world is calmer. Everything is transformed: the leaves are hanging differently from their branches, the flowers coyly bowing their heads as if they are shy, but the colours seem brighter, more vivid.

I look forward to leaving the house when it is raining. I enjoy walking through the rain and always smile when I step out into the falling droplets. It's the sense of being utterly independent, yet I am not alone, because the rain is there with me. The rain is a goddess who caresses me. A droplet down the cheek is the trace of a finger.

The rain keeps the streets empty, and I am free to walk without others around me. I love solitude, and this is the best kind, because its fun. Jumping over puddles is a game I enjoy, and the rain makes this possible. Sometimes the uneven footpath has chains of little islands and I can skip across them, light-footed, unselfconscious because I'm alone in the rain.

I sometimes go out in the rain for no reason other than I want to enjoy being out there, feeling it, smelling it, listening to it. No matter how heavy, it's always lovely to be out in amongst the falling drops. Then I can come home, throw off my wet things, and sit in front of the heater in my dressing gown drinking coffee, listening to the rain outside.

When I go out in the rain during the day on an errand people behind counters are always being sympathetic, somehow thinking I am unhappy to be rained on. But I don't need their sympathy; they have no idea how happy I am. The rain makes my hair look darker, and it curls into ringlets - the rain makes me beautiful, and how can you not love someone who does this for you?

As I walk back home through the rain I see a pretty woman, bedraggled but undaunted, walking in the opposite direction. She sees me - dishevelled and with my glasses sliding down my nose, useless anyway because they're covered in droplets - and we share knowing smiles. As I pass her I am still smiling, thinking that the rain falls for her too.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.