It rained here last night. A quiet, almost imperceptible rain, the kind one might believe to have dreamt up if not for having smelled its faint fragrance in the air the next morning. It was one of the gentler things I’ve encountered in a long time, certainly more so than the roaring mopeds and the crash of the surf on the Mediterranean. It reminded me more of my baby’s breath as he sleeps: sometimes so still I may lean closer just to ensure it remains constant. Its fragility was sweet and reassuring, a beautiful reminder to stop and listen — that that which is loudest is very rarely the most important.
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