Rain

By Greg Fallis

Think about this: sunlight evaporates water. No, really think about it. Radiant heat from a continuously exploding ball of hydrogen ninety-three million miles away causes water molecules on Earth to transform from a liquid state into a gaseous one. That in itself is astonishing...but it's only the first step of an almost incomprehensibly complex circular pattern. The water vapor formed by evaporation rises up thousands of feet into the air. There the vapor gathers together, miraculously self-organizing into amorphous cloud formations. When it cools, the water vapor transfigures itself back into a liquid state. And then, amazingly and gracefully, water falls from the sky.

Photo By Eddy Joaquim

Rain. Water falling from the sky. We're so accustomed to it that we fail to recognize how incredible it is. Rain ought to be the stuff of tabloid headlines: Baby Born with the Ears of a Bat! Statue of Lincoln Found on Mars! Water Falls from Sky! Even artists and poets, people who appreciate the beauty of rain, rarely reflect on what they're witnessing. There is a finite amount of water in the world, and it continues to circulate and recirculate. The water molecules that form the raindrops that fall on your umbrella in Vancouver may have evaporated from an Andalusian fountain or a Norse fiord. When it lands the rain is absorbed into the ground, or channeled into drains which lead to lakes or rivers which lead to the oceans and the process begins again.

We usually think of rain as falling in cartoonish teardrop shapes. In fact, small raindrops are spherical. The larger the raindrop, the more wind resistance it faces as it falls; medium raindrops flatten out like liquid hamburger buns and the largest raindrops become lens-shaped parachutes. The shape is important. Sunlight, refracted and dispersed by billions of individual spherical raindrops, can create that most photographable meteorological phenomenon: a rainbow.

Photo By Greg Fallis

Rain is democratic weather; it falleth on the meek and mighty, on the rich and poor, on the just and unjust alike. Rain is a form of grace, a reward for the devout; it's also punishment for the wicked. It feeds the rivers and floods the cities. The gentle rain nourishes the crops, the hard rain swamps the fields. According to an old law enforcement aphorism, rain is the best policeman. And by George, in Spain the rain stays mainly in the plain.

When the rain ends, a distinctive smell fills the air. Here we have another astonishing cycle. During dry periods many plants exude an oil called petrichor, which retards seed germination; nature doesn't encourage false starts. Petrichor is absorbed by earth and stone. Water releases it into the air, allowing seeds to germinate and causing that special post-shower scent.

Photo By Rachel Cowan

Photographers and artists love the rain, of course. It's possibly the most evocative weather. It can be romantic, pensive, dramatic. Moisture in the air creates soft, saturated colors. Dull streets become mysterious. Pedestrians rush about, disguised by colourful umbrellas. Reflections in puddles turn the mundane world into an Impressionist's canvas.

You don't need to understand the 'how' or 'why' of rain to love it. But the 'how' and 'why' can make you love it more.