The rain comes. Uninvited but welcome, as always. The sun is down now, its almost night. The already darkening sky becomes even more so due to the cloud cover above. Everything’s hazy. Everything’s beautiful. Everything painted a dull white.
The rain has come and it’s washed everything with its colour. All white – the sky, the trees, the roads. The world suddenly looks cleaner – all the dirt washed away suddenly. It’s as if it needed the rain once in a while to purify itself.
You remove your glasses. They are the last thing you need right now. You lift your head to the white sky and close your eyes. The rain falls on your face, and for a moment, just for a moment, you feel that it has cleaned you too.
In the background, Gilmour sings –
The rain fell slow, down on all the roofs of uncertainty
I thought of you and the years of all the sadness fell away from me
The words don’t fit at all and fit just right at the same time. Combined with the rain, they produce a weird sensation, something like a cross between the most irrepressible ecstasy and the dullest ache.