We could do with some of this kind of rain, tumbling tears, big-dropped, spillingly abundant but not surgingly so. This doesn’t in fact describe rain itself, but the dream of rain of a Russian aristocrat fantasising about a bucolic existence on his estates.
If rain comes, it is such a beneficient summer rain! It falls briskly, abundantly, splashing along merrily like the big, warm tears of a man overcome with sudden joy.
Source: Ivan Goncharov, Oblomov, trans. David Magarshack (London: Penguin, 1954 (1859)), p. 105
Photo credit: chulmin1700 at pixabay