What is it about the rain that causes it to have a strange effect on my eyelids?

Is it the lullaby it brings as each droplet is dispersed out of the swelling sky?

Or, is it how the skies sweetly dim the lights around the earth outside my window.

No, the rain does not want to soothe me, but abruptly jolts me! O how heavily you are now thrashing on the window dear raindrops! I get the impression that now something in the clouds has a mood of haste and discontent. As if the skies are now impatient and rationally decide to blast those ever-growing raindrops away from its white hands.

The trees can only respond by barely swaying their needles.

The clouds are not satisfied. They wish to see the pines dance!

But the sturdy, flimsy pines are now motionless from the inconsistent showers.

The rain comes again, alone without the wind. The trees just observe, with the melting sky’s discontent running down its soaked shaft.

Thankful is the earth for such a watering, and I am tired once more.

Thunderstruck am I, my dear lullaby! I did not think you were in such a mood!

First you are quick to flash your anger, and then express it more fitfully by the rumble of your displeasure. This is a deceitful gentle rain.

Calm again, please calm again. I can still sense your bitterness in the distant grumblings.

I wait. What will those tainted white clouds do next?

It is as if the atmosphere is at the threshold of relaxing its anxieties, but I remember the roar just moments ago.

This is nothing new to the nonchalant trees who can read the clouds unlike credulous me. I look to the pines for answers now, who are suddenly still as Stonewall in the middle of a battle. From the way they look, I reluctantly hypothesize to serene myself again.

What a grudge the skies must be holding! It again tries to express the hard feelings with a tantrum of airborne canons.

We tranquil observers do not empathize. The rain is too captivating.