There’s something oddly satisfying about the rain on a cold, windy evening. Something... about standing alone in the gnawing chilliness while others scurried to seek shelter. It's the perfect time to take a quiet stroll along the coast to watch the dark waters roll in.

I recently stumbled upon a newfound attraction to the very same dark waters I used to fear. There’s something mesmerizing in the way they rush against the shore, layers upon layers, like glittering black pearls rolling against shiny stones. One rainy evening in late spring, I stood by the coast to watch the tide come in as darkness gradually descended around me.

The snow-capped mountain stood on the other side of the shore. Fog rose as dark clouds drifted over it. I stood rooted to the spot by the sea, watching darkness engulf that mountain into an illusion of endless nothingness as night fell second by second.

I’d watched night fall over the city and that mountain, against waters that look like glittering black pearls in a bottomless ink pot. Cold rain against my face. Wind kissing my cheeks. Silence. Pure silence, except for the whistling sounds of wind and rain droplets on my jacket. When I lifted my face towards the sky, the tingling sensation of the cold rain ran down my skin. The smell of the ocean penetrated my nostrils like a tease to my olfactory senses.

My heart, satisfied.


Because there’s something oddly satisfying about the rain on a cold, windy evening.