I like to thinkThat when it rains, the thunder encloses our small cityIn a soft gray blanket.We are cut off from the complications and distractionsOf the outside worldAnd all there isHas beenAnd ever will beIs the white noise of rain.I like to thinkThat when it drip-drops down from the leavesShowing us the simple beautiesOf ripples in puddlesAnd quiet crackles of bright yellow,It wraps us up tight in that blanket.It rocks us to sleep,Content in the misty gray fogAnd the pitter-patter of rain,The low rumbles of thunder and the golden lightning.