I love  rain, I love It when it's dearly expected I love it because It is not driven by fear nor biased, it hits every object, truthful to its nature, it takes charge and lets us know when it's in town...with such cool humbleness.  
I love it, I just love it because it has a smell  
Of a fresh start, how coulors introduce their mild brightness in the presence of clouds. How I wish for it to read me a bedtime story...a story with only one word, "drop" .
A very simple and subtle way of showing us that the only cry that's destructive is the one with thunderous words.
Rain smells like victory when there is some gingerly blowing wind, I love rain because it cannot apologize for getting us wet, yet we are still upset, upset with some evident wetness of the meeting. I love it because it falls so hard, so deep...only to multiply.
I wonder if the distance  between the clouds and the ground ever changes or is it fixed like the distance between H to O.
The spirit of oxygen...how alive can it keep this liquid? How poetic to see tiny little droplets on a leaf of a tree.
The droplets in formation as I look out the window, poetry has no form  
And nature has the smooth audacity to prove that.