In my novel, rain slaps against the windows of the coffee shop. The windows are good. They will hold.
Two Christians talk Christian things. The Bible has some good lines of rain although it basically is a book of the desert.
A man fondles the crucifix he’s wearing around his neck as he reads the Bible.
A crow on the roof seems delighted with his manic splashing in the rain. I’ve seen humans act like that after a long dry spell. Umbrellas automatically prevent this sight, among other beauties of rain.
A school bus full of children rolls by the window. They will go to school, plug in, and learn nothing of rain. I once taught my students about rain. Rain was an essential curriculum.
Rain offer opportunities for the mind; the sun dulls them. Rain is a Russian novel; the sun an airline magazine.
I think about someone who had rain tattooed on her arm. Where is she?
I wonder if anyone is reading my rain book at this exact moment. I have approximately 40 rain books left.
Rain inspires conversations; the sun makes people want to workout. Rain kills fire; the sun sparks fires. When will this country ever elect a man or woman of rain to serve as President?
Rain picks up outside. I sense a deluge is coming. I mean that in reality and metaphor.