"If Hell is jealous of the rain," then the Devil should move to San Francisco

This is my first winter in a climate without snow. While I do not miss the bitter cold, I do miss the snow.

During my second year of law school, there was a heavy snow storm (heavy snow storm in Chicago? No!). I was working that afternoon and the office was about a 1 mile walk from my apartment, just on the other side of the river. I could see Two Prudential from my window. My mother heard there was heavy snow in Chicago (my parents diligently monitor the weather wherever I happen to be) and told me to take a cab home. Of course, I did not listen to her sage advice and decided to walk home, in my "completely in appropriate for the weather" shoes. Even now, I am very glad that I did walk.

It was like walking in a snow globe after it has been shaken. The snow fell in big, beautiful, white flakes. The wind was not too strong, so the bitter cold that usually beats against you in Chicago was miraculously absent. The snow fell spectacularly to the earth, each robust flake dancing delicately to the ground.

I looked like a snowman by the time I got to my apartment building - I was covered from my hatless head to my inappropriate shoes in snow. It wasn't so bad while I was outside, but the melting was instantaneous once I got inside and was struck by the warmth of the lobby. Instead of being caked in snow, I was drenched in water by the end of the elevator ride to the 34th floor.

Here, it rains... What I always loved about the rain is the way you can smell it coming. There is a heaviness in the air and clouds gather. And just before the release, the warning shots are fired by the heavens. The rumbling of clouds rolling into each other. The cracks of lightening from the collisions.

There is no thunder or lightning here.

And what is rain without thunder and lightning?

Its a song without a melody.

A story with no plot.

Its being alive without living.

Let Hell have the rain. Give me the noise and excitement of the storm.