There is a type of perfect summer rainstorm that exorcises the heat from the ground in billows of mist and makes the world hazy.
The lightning sets the trees into relief and every so often a little light leaf will float to the ground.
The thunder rumbles, the sky crackles, and the clouds are leaden and low in the sky, brushing the treetops.
The rain makes it look like they are falling on you when you look up.
It catches in your eyelashes and strokes the side of your face with little rivulets of water, it plays in your hair and swirls around your ankles, a warm melody.
I met a girl once with eyes like a rainstorm.
Their steady gaze has never left me, for it felt like standing in one to meet it.