It is raining once more.

It rains so often here. Sometimes, I wonder if the sky is trying to tell us something, but it is often in vain, for we never seem to have the time to look out of the window these days.

It is so pretty, the rain, lightning and thunder. To others, frightening, annoying, a disturbance or hindrance, and I wonder why. The sky is a delicate, pale shade of grey, a lady with long, tumbling soft yellow gold tresses, falling down to sweep the earth. She is cloaked in white and silver, her raiment is the glittering star-roof over our heads. Her eyes are full of laughter, grey and gentle. Little threads of life, sparks of springtime dance within those soft eyes. Those eyes often pierce the sky, glancing hither and thither so quickly that all we see is sparks. Sometimes, her eyes turn violet, blue or dark, dusky black, and they wreak havoc across the horizon. But, for us, lightning is but a beautiful yet dangerous work of art by Nature, like a savage beast who cannot be tamed. She walks barefooted, her feet skipping lightly across the ground, giving water where she may. Her laughter is that of sweet spring water giggling its way across many smoothened pebbles, a shaft of light in the darkness.

The rain seems so delicate, so gentle, each droplet breaking as it lands, like a sad, weary mother's tears of worry and heartbreaking sorrow. But looks can be deceiving. Water is, as far as I know, the strongest and most resilient element of Nature. It can be severed, the stream may be blocked, the river may be dammed, the waterfall may dry up, but, usually, it is water that triumphs in the end. If a dam goes unserviced and unchecked, it will fall into ruin, and the river will break free of its constraints, and, like a wild lion, storm out of its prison. One day, the stream will wear away the object that dares block its path, and cruise down onwards to join its brothers. The waterfall may dry up, but that same water source may reappear somewhere else, as yet another body of water.

I am constantly amazed at how calming and tranquil water can be in one moment, and the next, a roaring predator pouncing on its prey. Rain, rivers, lakes; all the same thing, the same element. They are very much like our own relations, our own kind.

The trickle of water is playful, teasing and frivolous, pushing its way past obstacles slowly and uncertainly. The stream is steadier, more sure of its course, shouldering its way past obstacles, and growing bolder.

The river encompasses both trickle and stream, folding them in, including them. Tranquil. It is not perturbed by ripples made in its large body, though it affects the entire river, it is ignored. If not, then the river makes adjustments to itself to adapt.

The lake is open, calm, almost like a person at rest or sleeping, like the oceans and the seas. Yet, at times, other outside elements can whip it into a fury. It has moods just like we do.

The waterfall is majestic, powerful and strong. It can dislodge or wear down almost anything, given time. It is sure of its direction, and where it is headed. In fact, it falls back into the lakes and rivers.

However, most of the time, rain is the form which I like water most in. Rain encompasses all those different personalities, and thunder is her proud steed. He has black, flashing eyes, a long, soft, flowing mane, a tail that flies out behind him as he runs, sometimes cloaking the sky, and a shiny, dark coat of the black night.

They are such a contrasting pair, she of light and laughter, he of darkness and anger. But, they work well together to coat the earth in its shiny raiment.

The gems drop down to the Earth, colouring the dull road a polished black, turning it into a precious diamond. The beads hang, poised in the air for a second, in all their quiet glory.

Then, shrouded in silence, they fall.

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