A little tap at the window, as though some missile had struck it, followed by a plentiful, falling sound, as light, though, as if a shower of sand were being sprinkled from a window overhead; then the fall spread, took on an order, a rhythm, became liquid, loud, drumming, musical, innumerable, universal. It was the rain.
– Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past
Photo: David Salter with rain
Live & Learn 
and what music to my soul that is
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It is….
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You are clearly outside my house this morning, pal.
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Here to Lori…
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Here 3!! ☔️💦☔️💦
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Isn’t that something! (and don’t want to take this to a dark place…but perhaps someone large is grieving with New Zealand)
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Yes it really could be. We have all shed tears for this deep tragedy and Mother Nature is reflecting this grief back 😞
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I like the sound of rain we have melting snow now 🤗 smiles Hedy
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Me too. Us too!
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The sun is finally out here, after three days of rain and rain and more rain…
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What a great set up for the weekend.
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Reblogged this on It Is What It Is and commented:
The power of words!! … Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past …
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I love the sound of rain on pretty much any surface. I especially love it when I can sit outside under a canopy or extension of the roof… so peaceful.
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Yes. ME too. Your comment reminds me of:
Don’t run any more.
Quiet.
How softly it rains
On the roofs of the city.
How perfect
All things are…
~ Czeslaw Milosz, After Paradise
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How dramatic and capturing Proust gives us the rain! I only read his work in French (and only a tiny bit at that) so I didn’t realize what I was missing,…thank you again for another lovely selection.
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In French! You did! Wow. Depth of your talent has no bounds.
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Oh so lovely
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