I prefer to sit on my back porch listening to to the rain fall to the earth in torrents, but that kind of gullywasher is usually not common in the City of Light. In Paris, it falls as a misty spray most of the time. Sometimes you’ve just got to take what you can get.
This tree in Parc Monceau looks so much happier in the rain. I want to hug it.
The park looks deserted by creatures of the human persuasion, but looks can be deceiving. A few would still rather walk in the rain than ride the bus or metro. I can’t say that I blame them.
This tree still thinks it’s autumn, all decked out in its orange foliage. That’s ok. It’s allowed.
Even the unfortunate trees who inhabit Champs-Elysées look as though they can breathe a little more easily when it rains.
It only takes the rain to remove the weight of the city from my soul.