There’s just something special about rain that unevenly explainable.
Is because it sounds like bumps of fairies falling from the sky and tiptoe-ing in the grounds?
Is because it smells like a new-bornt cattle drenched with feromon or the feromon itself comes out of grass and all-greens breathing the new-resetted carbon in the air?
Is because it sensed like the air breathing a new-made formula contains delicate, solitude, and composure that it blows to all human’s skin?
Is because it seems like sight become poured with abundance of blue-grayish film that filtering the human lenses?
Is because it tasted like peppermint tea that Father bring from a hajj pilgrimage in Mecca in a mug that mother sent from the chilly weather in Toronto?
I bet one and each of them make me utterly attach to the rain. Like, if dark cloudy days makes you joyful and the raindrops makes you merry, maybe you just read too many melanchonical story about sweet confront of love or, simply, fall in love with the solitude it can serve to your senses of five.