The sound is oddly soothing—constant, rhythmic. It taps. It taps. A gentle cadence that lulls the mind, unhurried. The steady rain blurs old days and idle intentions, yet forgives such lapses. It taps, patient; its rhythm reassures, promising you can always try again.
Weather
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Rain on Pavement
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Fogged Glasses, Instant Panic
There’s a special kind of chaos when rain hits your lenses and you go from functioning adult to pirate, minus the patch. You wipe with a sleeve, smear it worse, then try the corner of your T-shirt. Bus due, kerb somewhere, dignity missing in action. You blink, guess, and shuffle on. Sight finally returns, one stop late.