The rhythm is monotonous and slow paced. The earth becomes soggy, all dryness is erased. It falls calm and smooth, in a soft steady groove. Gathering and integrating, it makes quick work evaporating. It falls from the heavens with softness and ease, it floats through the sky and wanders with the breeze. It picks up pace, here and there, falling gracefully through the air. Its nutrients are sufficient for the trees and the flowers, providing a quenching drink with its cool refreshing showers. Without it, the green color would yellow and die, leaving the earth lifeless and dry. It’s absence would mean no plant could survive, it’s essesance, the life blood, pulsing through their veins, keeping them alive.

There are many signs when it comes and goes. For when it comes, everybody knows. The day will grow dark from its clouds in the sky. And the sun will hide behind them, like a child that is shy. Its presence, usually serene and soothing, interrupted by thunder, which means a storm is brewing. The storm hustles its pace, moving quicker and quicker, each drop flying to the surface, making it slicker and slicker. With haste, it densely collects on the earth’s floor, flooding and soaking it to the core. Lightning streaks across the sky, the wind blows through trees, sending leaves awry. But in a moment, all is done. The clouds move on and out returns the sun. The water that was collected, no longer remains. And every sorrow and pain, has left with the rain.