The world and everything in it becomes different in aspect in the rain. Rain elucidates and distinguishes with more precision than either sun or wind. It misses nothing, outlining the smallest crevices of iris, honeysuckle, sinking down into the funnels of trumpet vine and crawdad burrow, tracing each furrow in the bark of the oak, dripping off the lashes of green midge and moth, the feather barbs of mallard and coot. It lines the lines of every leaf and spear of the marsh rushes, every pinpoint of the pine, calling attention to each spike of the burr, each gravel of the path. Nothing is overlooked, nothing too small for notice.
— Pattiann Rogers, God Is Love by Brian Doyle