A Little Time for Rain

Yesterday, as the afternoon began and the clouds came rolling in, I dropped my books on my desk and opened the window for a nice English breeze, but what I got was so much better. I first sat back to start a movie but was distracted by this calming rain that poured over the football field in the distance. A subtle, constant, charming, yet dreary rain that my eyes couldn't help but be mezmerized. The images, that I shall assume were shooting across my computer screen as the movie began, were of no importance. George Clooney himself could have walked in the room and ask me to attend a party with him and his deep voice would have been silenced by that calm, soft rain. As I sat there, eyes not blinking, I was overpowered with this since of utter peace and astonishment. I'm coming to realize, since I've arrived here in England, that the simple things really are so much grander; they are simply more important. As I sat there, watching the rain, I thought to myself that one would never see a rainfall like this back in America; slow, without flaw. Nothing in America is "slow" but rather everyone always goes at a fast pace, constantly out of breath, and by the end of the day are wondering "Where did my day go?" America has no time to sit down and watch the rain fall anymore. Or, I should say, they do but it seems they've been brainwashed to believe different. Not here. Not in the countryside of England. The people here make certain that they take deep, soothing breaths each day and if by some reason it may be raining (which, let's face it .... is quite often), they throw aside their papers to be written and their disputes to be had as a means to be at peace, even for but a short while.