Those who know me for a while know that I have an longstanding love affair with rain. Especially warm rain that leaves little shiny water droplets on your skin and this smell of freshness. Back in 1995, during the summer afternoons, I'd walk from Curzon hall to my home - a 20 min walk in the rain, and I'd be rejuvenated. And nothing compares to the feeling of listening to the rain pitter patter on the tin roof, sometimes in roaring thunder, sometimes in peaceful tiptoeing footsteps of a naughty youngster.
So after having a winter that was like that annoying relative at family gathering, I was pleasantly surprised to find a dark rain in the middle of the blooming spring. I was coming back from the Ministry, and rolled down the windows to capture the pregnant cumulous clouds on top of the distant hills.
By the time I reached the office, the clouds gave way to torrents of loud rain, which I captured from my balcony. I went outside and got wet a little, not enough to have those lingering sexy droplets, but enough to take me away from the nagging chores of the day.
The rain stopped very quickly, and after 20 min, it was bright and clear again, with no sign in the sky of this wonderful gift.
But sometimes you just look below to remind you of what you experienced.
