That’s what rain is to me on so many levels; it’s sensations without being intrusive. I’ve written that every time it rains I have all the windows open and am most often sitting the doorway to the outside, watching it, listening to it, smelling and connecting as much as I can. Rain is sensed, smelled in the distance, felt in the oppressive weight in the air. It covers all my senses, makes my skin damp. I love how I can feel just a drop or two, and then a downpour can completely cover me. I love a gentle rain that I can play in, or rain that engulfs and takes every inch of my body; in either type or somewhere in the middle you can find me often outside barefoot and appreciating the sensations that rain creates.
I haven’t necessarily rushed home with a lover and slowly peeled off each layer of dripping clothes, licking up the droplets that remain on their skin, but I like that fantasy.
I love how the water can seep between us in ways nothing else can, in between lips, tasting the liquid between sliding tongues.
Rain can shift perspective on everything, blur, clean, refresh the world around me.