The weather in this city is like this, giving people the urge to wear short sleeves, and then completely shattering their pride in the face of cold winds with several days of continuous rainy weather. The scattered leaves on the branches stand a few, somewhat maliciously alerting people that spring has arrived, and even summer is on its way. But the cold wind is determined to slap its face, to make it fall from the cold, from the branches. In this southern rainy city, or at least it should be rainy, it arrogantly swears to defeat the summer heat. It didn't say that last year on this day, it was eager to leave, and then ushered in three months of rainless drought, as if even the Yangtze River was about to dry up.
In the distance, there is the sound of heavy wheels rolling, rumbling, which is actually thunder. But unlike the thunder that strikes straight to the ground, these thunders are just the clouds in the sky playing with each other, just their playful teasing. A few faint flashes of white light pass between the layers of clouds, sounding so distant. But the rain is real, dragging its fat body down from the sky. It's hard to say where this kind of determination comes from. Of course, it has countless chances to come back.
At this moment, the rain is not only flowing lightly in this city, but also pouring out among the cities upstream. So, the shallow river that was unprecedented a few months ago should also be rising. Ships that were supposed to run aground are setting sail again, heading towards the ocean or the estuary.
The rain in the Yangtze River Delta is still falling, always like this. The air is filled with the lingering threat of heat from the past few days that has not yet dissipated, and the puddles on the ground reflect the passing pedestrians. Some say this is a city that always moves slowly, holding the fastest position but doing the slowest things. But this slowness is like a stone in the river, named fast river water, which will eventually be swept into the bottomless vortex. Especially, the rain is still falling.
The rain is always falling like this. A little moonlight is reflected in the puddles, or maybe it's a trick of the eye, it turns out that the shops have turned on their lights. Even if the stars and the moon are on vacation, these lights will come on whenever they are needed. One by one, on the edge of the dark horizon, little lights are lit up. The pure wind brushes against the dirty ground, blowing upwards. Sitting on the plain, it feels like looking down from a great height. As soon as a light spot starts to move, it's like the vast sea. The rain falls, stirring ripples, and this beautiful scene becomes blurred.
The sound of the rain is very soft, it comes from the softness of water, it cannot match any intentional roar. But the sound of the rain is very loud, it comes from the clouds made up of tiny water droplets, from the strong wind twisted by tiny air currents, from all the huge forces made up of tiny things. It can cover up any unintentional noise, any insincere complaint, and has enough strength to wash away all dirt. Therefore, the greatest noise, because of the arrival of the rain, can find a moment of peace. Let the rain click on the umbrella, the raindrops cut through the body, the slightly acidic water flows from the corner of the clothes to the cuffs, and finally wets the already dirty shoes and socks.
There is nothing to fear. Stepping on the thoroughly soaked ground, everything that needed to get wet is already wet. Seeing a few good umbrellas torn apart by the strong wind on the roadside, besides feeling regret, one also realizes that the dry parts of oneself will probably never touch any dirt.
Only when a car passes by and splashes mud, do you have to dodge, only then can you realize that the rain is still falling.