To me, rain is a symbol for growth. It represents the fertility of all life. It brings forth new growth in foliage and nurtures the soil we so proudly walk upon. It provides water for the creatures that bound through forests and refreshes us after we’ve been barraged by sun for a week. It is beautiful. Sunshine makes me happy, indeed. Its rays that beam down on my face when I’m lying sprawled on the cool ground. It means ice cream, and long, hot bike rides and swimming with no direction. But the sun can’t make me reflect. It cannot make me stare out the window of my living room and say “Look how far I have come” It does not bring the sound of gentle and steady drops on the rooftop that cradle me to sleep. It does not offer me a shower or cleanse me of sins. It cannot reign forth thunder or lightning for added power. The sun itself is unable to generate a rainbow, it needs the rain. The sun cannot fill the lake with fresh water for the fish. The sun can kill you. Rain itself, cannot. You can’t get cancer from the rain (please no comments about acid rain). When it rains, it gives you the chance to catch up on things you really enjoy like reading, or playing an instrument, sleeping, listening to music, binge watching television. It’s calming. It washes away all of the pollen on cars and dirt on our faces. In every movie you’ve ever watched where people are suffering, rain is their savior. Rain is first to heal, and then the sun. When it rains, it reminds me of why I’m alive.