I sat on the back porch with a book. From my perch, the sky was blue with no clouds in sight, but it was raining. It was tentative at first – tiny pings as scattered drops rang on metal. I peeked my head out to look for a rainbow until it started to pour. The metallic pings became a cacophony of sounds, like a child playing with a wooden spoon on pots and pans, and the gurgling splash of water on concrete from the downspout of the house roared like a waterfall. The showers continued in cycles that waxed and waned, from a deafening roar to barely a whisper. And still, the sun was shining and my patch of sky remained a steady blue.
“Rain is grace; rain is the sky descending to the earth; without rain, there would be no life.” –John Updike