At the time, it seemed enough to create instant magic. We just watched the rain; not a word was spoken for a good while, and it was pure contemplation, I thought, though I had no idea about what was in my mom’s mind. I watched her serene countenance, and it created a parenthesis from reality. In my town, time stopped.

Sitting on the porch wasn't something my mother approved of. To her, it was like people might think we were spying on our neighbors; it was “bad manners.” Our porch was for occasional or unexpected visitors, or a place to sit for a while when it was too hot inside the house, also a place to hang out while we had our afternoon coffee. When that afternoon coffee was accompanied by the sound of the pouring rain and the empty street and the empty square, oh, that was so nice. In my neighborhood, the afternoon rain was a spell to quiet the street.

That quietness and a porch surrounded by an empty street and some greenery here and there created that cozy feeling I crave every time it rains and I'm too busy to allow myself to stop along with time as in this memory that now seems to belong to a lost era, when porch sitting was still a thing.

So to accompany my coffee & rain, I'm now content with a book and some quiet company.

Blue?

If the rain makes me sad, I couldn't tell. Whenever I'm in the shelter of my home or some safe, covered place, the rain calms my spirit so much that you could well mistake it for sadness. My countenance relaxes; my gaze is lost in the opaque wall of water and if there be any worry in me, it'd wander so slowly through my mind that my heart wouldn't be disturbed.

It's raining. Time just stands still. Nothing to worry about. Not now.