I grew up with the notion that the sky sheds tears at night, which we see as morning dew. It awakened compassion in me for the stars and moon, and I thought about what made them cry. Was it a lesson not learnt, or an incomplete school assignment?
The botany lessons lessened my sympathy a little, as I learnt about surface condensation on plants and flowers. The magic of a rainbow failed to enthral in the same way, as physics made inroads in the mind. It was the process of growing up.
I enjoyed watching the rains through the window, but had started worrying about hair and clothes getting messed up in the rain. My favorite actress drenched in a waterfall, singing a romantic song, invoked a different kind of passion. The magic of innocence had disappeared.
clouds shed tears
miracles condense slowly
to frosty logic