There is never silence

There is never silence, but, you can never discern a single source. The rain comes together pattering the water in the parking lot, celestial infinities of individual water droplets in a continuously falling body. Everything, every one, is lost in the greatness of the storm. The flush of it all together amounts to a deep internal quiet, an airless security. If each drop had a moment, an instant alone, flashing against the tar, you would be quickly at the end of this. The possibilities of the days that conspire to determine your worth would be exhausted by the flicker of rain, all at once, in a morning.