The poem of Rain. Oh, the rain, the rain...

        “ It rained. It had been raining for seven years; thousands upon thousands of days compounded and filled from one end to the other with rain, with the drum and gush of water, with the sweet crystal fall of showers and the concussion of storms so heavy they were tidal waves come over the islands. A thousand forests had been crushed under the rain and grown up a thousand times to be crushed again.” American writer Ray Bradbury describes the same rain in remarkable fantastic novel “All summer in a Day”. This is the rain at the Planet Venus.
       These lines are interesting for me. I live in Vancouver about three years and can’t to like the rain. It seems the rain has never end. It rained “from one end to the other”. It is eternal.
       But the Vancouver rain isn’t like the rain at the fantastic planet Venus. It has another character...
       It’s the early morning. The clouds are covering the sky. The strong light-grey fogs make the mountains invisible. But it’s not raining. There is peace and quiet.
       After some minutes the crystal rare drops disturb the calm. Outside rainwater dripped rhythmically. I’m listening to soft strange melody of the rain, which slowly and very gently lulled me to sleep.
       After about one hour the rain stopped, and the quiet came back.
       Suddenly a violent wind began to roar overhead; my lovely apple tree bluster cried. Big drops of rain fell with slow tap and splash on the leaves; there came a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder .It was raining hard.
       And now I’m applying to R.Bradbury: “A few cold drops fell on their noses and their cheeks and their mouths. The sun faded behind a stir of mist. A wind blew cold around them. They turned and started to walk back toward the underground house, their hands at their sides, their smiles vanishing away. A boom of thunder startled them and like leaves before a new hurricane, they tumbled upon each other and ran. Lightning struck ten miles away, five miles away, a mile, a half mile. The sky darkened into midnight in a flash. They stood in the doorway of the underground for a moment until it was raining hard.”
       It’s raining hard at the Venus. It’s raining hard in Vancouver. But in Vancouver the water falls from heaven only some days.
       Our umbrellas protect us against troubling raindrops. But the grass, the flowers, the leaves of trees and bushes greedily drink heavenly bracer. And all soggy worlds expect that soon the wind will bring the black heavy clouds either to the Mountains or to the Ocean. And there above Ocean the clouds will spill as a rain.
      Then the Sun comes back and we breathe of the fresh air and listen to the silence!