I always want to take advantage of the rain and let the sound of pattering spread through the window lattice and the accumulated folds in my heart. The rain doesn't have to be loud or hurried, it just needs to be as densely woven as a fine needle, gently absorbing the impetuousness and dust between heaven and earth. It falls on the green tiles, knocking out a simple rhythm; it is sprinkled among the sycamore leaves, filtering out the noise of midsummer; it drips into the stagnant water, dissipating the fatigue in circles.
