The dry ground embraces the rain as if an old lover, letting it caress it, coaxing from it a smell that’s as new as it is familiar.
Rain has its own melancholic symphony; One that forces you to face the darkest crevices of your soul and bares you to the point that when the sun finally comes out, you embrace its rays and let them filter through you. The green of the trees seems darker, brighter. The air seems fresher, better. The dusty film on the past seems as if washed away and you get to start anew, the prospect of a brighter time seeming within reach, the shining sun hard to ignore and the lost will to thrive brought to light, unable to be stashed away.
For, every storm hints at a beautiful day where, despite the wreck and the destruction around us, the world starts to live again and we, with our damaged souls and battered hearts are allowed to heal and bloom once more.