It starts softly. A single drop on the windowpane. Then another. Soon, the world is wrapped in a gray hush, and the old voices rise with the scent of wet earth.
Today, you choose to walk. Would you like a shorter version, or one tailored for a specific tone (e.g., romantic, melancholic, inspirational)?
When It Rains, They Speak
But then the storm gathers. The gutters choke. And you remember Tom Waits growling through the downpour: "The rain falls hard on the humdrum town. It falls on everyone." No favorites. No umbrella for the heart.
By dusk, the clouds crack open a little light. The dripping slows. And you recall something hopeful from Alice Hoffman: "Rain is grace. Rain is the sky descending to the earth. Without rain, there would be no life."
