As I walked through the park the air was cool and the ground was damp from a downpour I had missed by minutes. The sky, deceptively clear and blue gave little hint of the sweet rain that had pelted the flowers only moments before.
I went to meet some people on the Royal Mile and later, as I moved towards the door on my way out, the skies opened and I was soaked through. I jumped over puddles, tricky in 3 inch heels, and got to my car in time to hear the first ring of thunder. As I drove home, the rain fell in drops that would fill wine goblets in a single splash.
As I made my way home, I watched a symphony of light across the Edinburgh sky and with the stereo singing to me, I focused on the tail lights ahead, worried that one false move, one careless lapse of concentration and I’d end up against the guard rail of the M8.
Funny, in the middle of it all, I wanted nothing more than to stand in the midst of it, getting wet, enjoying the warm rain against my face.
There are all sorts of rain. There’s the rain that drizzles and spits down like a mist. It gets you wet without you noticing. There’s the cold, side-slanted rain that is carried on the wind, fierce and penetrating. There’s the warm summer rain, perfect, when it visits just as the picnic ends. Then, of course, there’s the kind you kiss in…
What’s your favourite rain? Describe it, set a scene, make rain your main character.
Writing Prompt: Raindrops on Roses