I love when it rains in the city.

I particularly love rain in Lisbon.

I love how droplets pile up at the edges of buildings, how they fatten there until they can no longer hold on, plunging toward the pavement below.

I love how the tram rails transform into little rivers, flowing faster or slower depending on the street's incline—and Lisbon has so many steep streets. When I catch one of these streams flowing, I'm invariably transported to childhood, wanting to fold a paper into something resembling a boat and set it sailing down, say, Calçada da Estrela. It would race downhill!

I love rain in the countryside.

I love the smell of rain, which doesn't actually exist.

I love the scent of dampened earth, soaked asphalt, eucalyptus bark torn away by water and wind.

I love how light reflects in dozens of tiny droplets that linger on pine needles in that moment when rain stops and sun discovers itself between clouds.

I love rain at the beach.

I love the footprints rain leaves in the sand.

I love being in the water when drops seem to rise from it, defying gravity. I love imagining the water cycle, how while droplets fill the sea, it's simultaneously evaporating, replenishing the clouds above.

I love rain when I'm driving.

I love the feeling of being protected while it rains, of being so near to water without getting wet.

I love the more or less chaotic patterns wind helps draw across the windows as the car moves.

I love the rhythm of windshield wipers gathering droplets into threads that are promptly undone.

I love watching drops disappear from my helmet visor when I accelerate, as if they suddenly know they don't belong there.

I love rain, but I've had enough!