Rain drops

The smell of the rain always reminded me of Toscana. The summers, winters, Christmas and falling stars nights I spent there. When everything on the hill glows and the sky is blue again. With the last rain drops still in the air, we used to go out again, trying not to fall on the slippery streets still wet, calling each other house by house and arrange another plan.

In Voinjama the rain is flooding my room and big drops slip along the glass of the window. I turn up the volume of my ipod, the noise of the rain on the zinc roof enters anyway in my hears and get mixed with the notes. So I feel in a sort of isolation, no other sound can break in, no person around, no movement from outside, no perception of what is going on. And the rain smell, still the same.