|All rain is, is a cloud- falling apart, and pouring its shattered pieces down on top of you||Because the Indians would keep dancing until it rained• Boys like me belonged to the rain• The richness of the rain made me feel safe and protected; I have always considered the rain to be healing—a blanket—the comfort of a friend|
|Evening coffee with turquoise tunes filling the heart with comfort and tenderness• Morning in winter, velvety coffee, turquoise tunes and nostalgia for unforgettable days• The summer sun was not meant for boys like me||It makes me feel better to know other things in nature can shatter• Without at least some rain in any given day, or at least a cloud or two on the horizon, I feel overwhelmed by the information of sunlight and yearn for the vital, muffling gift of falling water• A bitter-tasting cup of Arabic coffee crept into my veins and brought back the blood that has slowed down|
Do you know why the Indian rain dances always worked? Pleasure is two things: hot coffee and fine rain• Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? And coffee has a crazy ritual like a novelty dissolving it in the hidden water molecules• Rainy days should be spent at home with a cup of tea and a good book.
|It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder•||Rain has the power to hypnotize• Do not be angry with the rain; it simply does not know how to fall upwards• I always like walking in the rain, so no one can see me crying• Raise your words, not voice|