Possibly the sexiest meteorological event, because snow is kind of cold and bulky and no one ever thinks of having slow and incredibly steamy sex while 110-mile-per-hour winds are destroying the countryside (I hope).

I love the rain, and not just because it sets the mood in a way. It’s because it’s cleansing and forgiving and hopeful. The acid tang after a rain smells like absolution. The steady tapping during feels like a tattoo of abundance– both as an eternal imprint of bounty and a drumroll of overflow. The heavy, humid air right before feels like a hostess’s bated breath before a party; like something will change someone’s life forever, but you don’t know if it’s just going to be something small, like a scar; or something altogether unfathomably big.

There is very little to dislike about the rain, unless you are in the shallow end of a floodplain.

But in life, it’s all within a point of view.