I Woke Up to a Downpour

Rain hammered the roof in steady pulses. The sound was everywhere—on the windows, the gutters, the ground. A soft, roaring cocoon. The kind of rain that makes you hesitate to rise, not just because of the cold outside the covers, but because it seems to wash away urgency itself.

I lay still for a while, listening. There was something strangely grounding about the storm, how it reminded me that the world spins whether I move or not. That nature has its rhythms, and today, they didn’t align with alarms or schedules.

Outside, the trees swayed under the weight of the water, their leaves slick and trembling. The pavement below was already glossed with puddles.

For a brief moment, I felt a sense of gratitude. Not for the rain itself, but for what it gave me: stillness. A reason to pause. A chance to just be unhurried, untouched, tucked inside a quiet space where thoughts could unfurl slowly, like the mist rising from the earth.

I didn’t rush to dress. Instead, I let myself listen to the downpour, letting it scrub the corners of my mind clean, one drop at a time.

P.S. There is something about the rain that always makes me miss home--the home where I grew up. Do you feel the same?