The smell of air after a heavy rainfall smells fresh and clean, like the rebirth of a new day and new opportunity. As if a Tabula Rosa occurs after each time the clouds decide to burst. All the stains and dirt of yesterday are washed away.

And I must be grateful, for the mistakes I made were ones I'd never thought would go away. But, in reality, the rain made it easy. It erased my tracks, folding my footsteps into the loose mud. The red stains of old life fade away into plain gray pavement. The strands of hair get flushed down the drain and the heavy metal cause of it all floats down the newly flooded river, later sinking to the bottom whose secret is never to be unearthed nor uncovered.

I like the smell of rain - the moist air. It tickles your nose, almost hoping for a sneeze to fill the atmosphere; however, the sound of rain is enough, loud enough to pad any other disturbances, any other pitters or patters, that might occur. It creates a somber environment. That might be due to how the rain looks like teardrops or because all of the memories of the day before no longer have their temporary momento. And the rain hides, hides appearances and shapes. Secrets too.

The moment before the rain is just as important. The heavy anticipation, the breeze that tugs the clouds along, and the loud strikes of thunder followed by the loud slaps of lighting. The rainfall just waits, however, sitting in the clouds, watching the show unfold.

Perhaps that's why I like the rain. It erases my past mistakes to let me make new ones. And then those will wash away soon after. I guess I like the clean slate that the rain gives me.