The sky is grey. Clouds loom. Silence almost forms, but is broken once more.
Little spheres gather on the leaves. The grogginess of a rainy day in April seems to take over. Dampness is everywhere, especially in the soft, earthy ground.
Gutters fill to the brim, overflowing. Muck and grime is thankfully washed away, like a tiny flood reigning at the edges of roofs. The yards and trees are drinking to their pleasure; there comes with the rain that pleasant clinking of goblets, water against metal.
City sewers gulp the liquid. Kids run home soaking like wet rags. Heaven's floodgates are opened wide, draining, draining, till the clouds are squeezed dry. The land absorbs it like a sponge.
The rain is falling; let it rain.