My story is entitled Joshua Jackson driving in the rain whilst it was raining.

My story is entitled Joshua Jackson driving in the rain whilst it was raining.

Once upon a time Joshua Jackson looked out through the window. There he realised that the sky was tar-black and the large clouds were moving towards him. He then heard a tapping on the window and then it became a pitter-patter full of rain. People did ran for cover outside whilst it was raining and he was driving. Also, umbrellas were opened as the clouds spat out their beads of water. Puddles began plinking as the rainfall became heavier during the day. The roofs of the cars danced with spray including Joshua Jacksons car and I could hear the murmuring of the rain through the window. The rain sounded like the buzzing of some angry bees.

There was an effect of the rain on the trees and that included more detail in the sky and clouds.

Joshua Jackson then quickened his pace as the clouds began to gather in the sky. The sky had been postcard-perfect, but it was still changing cloudy. The beautiful cocktail-blue shade was beginning to darken into gravel-grey. Large pillows of cloud were forming, blotting out the old-gold colour of the sun.

Joshua Jackson then got the first splatter of rain when he was halfway across the meadow. He took shelter under an old oak, hoping that he could see out the shower. Droplets of moisture began to drip from the leaves. They were sprinkling onto the grass like a gardener’s hose. Then the rainfall became more intense. The wall of rain moved over the oak and the drops were drumming against the canopy. So much rain was falling that the sound blurred into one long, whirring noise. It reminded Joshua Jackson of the rotor blades on a helicopter. Eventually, the noise lessened and the drops faded into a musical chime.

The sun came out again, casting slanted beams of light across the entire meadow. Steam rose slowly from the grass. It rose up eerily and drifted mist-like towards the molten-gold sun. The image was so vivid that it stayed with me all the way home.      

The rain began as a whispering in the air. The day had been beautiful and the sky was like a dome of plasma-blue. The clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of sun.

We then put our tent up just before the Reaper’s moon of autumn appeared over the trees. The moon seemed to turn the leaves into a flaming patchwork of colours: scorching-yellows, lava-reds and burnished-browns. It added an alien glamour to a perfect scene. We heard a greedy thrush, snail a-tapping on rock; he finished his supper before fluttering into the owl-light of the forest. The mournful cry of a lonely fox echoed through the vault-still silence of the trees.

A huffing wind rose up then, stirring the flaps of our tent. There was a tinkling sound that came to our ears as the first pearls of rain dropped onto the leaves. The sound was like the glassy clinking of a champagne flute, lilting and clear. A sheet of rain passed over us and the sound intensified. The noise on the tent was like the phut-phut-phut that ripened nuts made when they hit the ground. It wasn’t the soft, sodden, swollen drops of spring we were hearing; it was like ball-bearings were hitting the canvas roof with force. Joshua Jackson could also hear an occasional ker-plunking sound. It was caused by the rainwater gathered on the tent falling to the ground in a great swash of release.

The thermometer plunged as we huddled together and shivered in the tent. Within a brief moment, Joshua Jackson thought that he might be doomed by adventurers, destined to get swept away in a mighty flood. We needn’t have worried. The curtain of rain passed over by the time dawn arrived. An explosion of bird song erupted from the dripping trees and it was as if the rain had never been falling.

The winter sky is a widow’s sky, be darkened and weeping. The clouds are churlish and kraken-cruel. They cough out great gouts of water and thunking balloons of sopping moisture. It teems down in a biblical deluge, flooding the rivers, drowning the fields and overflowing the dams. It is a Noah’s-Ark cataclysm of rain, an unending cataract of water sluicing from the sky. Trees are uprooted, cars went bobbing by and the entire villages disappear under a frothy lather of suds. Cities were overwhelmed and electricity blackouts had people living in fear of the unknown. The rain is incessant. It then snaps and crackles like bracken pods in a bush fire. The flood-gates in the sky have been opened and no-one is there to close them back up, it seems.

It is a terrifying vision of a future world? Indeed, it is . The rain is man’s new enemy, according to news reports and also Joshua Jackson experienced it whilst he was driving. The rain is the public enemy number one. It has betrayed man and is now the most destructive arrow in nature’s quiver. The rain also has a bad ‘rep’ at the moment. Is this how it should be viewed? Also Joshua Jackson was forgetting the gifts it bestows upon him.

The spring sky was fragile, pellucid-blue. The clouds were frail and angel-white. They were carried on a light, ruffling breeze. The soil of Mother Earth was titanium hard and in need of nourishment. The misty rain then falls down. It is as frail as a Scottish smirr and its misty dew feels like warm butter melting on a face. As the rain falls, it unlocks the glassy fingers of winter’s frosty fist, one by one. Flowers slowly unfurl in the meadows and ripple like coral arms at low tide. The rivers exhale with a murmurous purr of satisfaction. The spring rains are here and they are as sinless and glistening as an angel’s tears.

The summer sky is neon-blue and vibrant. The sun-crisped flowers of the meadow are wilting. They gape at the tufty clouds and beg for their parched petals to be given one more shot of insulin. The clouds oblige and the rain descends in little gleam-drops of silver. If you were to stand in the meadow, the drops would feel as sparkly and effervescent as champagne bubbles hitting over your skin as it rains. The sound of the rain is a harmonic thrumming, nature’s white noise. Silver trickles of water seep into the soil, renewing the life-roots of the plants beneath. A homely, baked-earth smell rises from the land as it is washed and cleansed by the dewy tears of the summer rain. The smell of the first rains after a dry spell, rises like a miasma. It is a jasmine-and-gingerbread fragrance, warm and fresh, and it gives the land its sweetness. The farmer is happy. The rain has given what the sun would take away.

The autumn sky is also dark and vengeful. The Steaming shrouds of cloud coil and writhe. Then an unearthly caterwauling sound fills the air. The wind whips up into frenzy. It is a shrieking, keening omen of the carnage to follow. The clouds race across the sky immediately, thrumming with the charged energy they are desperate to release. It starts with big, sopping drops of moisture. They are wild and indiscriminate, plump missiles of mass destruction that splatter onto the soft soil. The topsoil turns into slushy goo, but it doesn’t matter.  

The harvest has been taken in and the farmer stokes the glowing coals with a poker and a sigh of contentment. The rain is sissing and hissing off the roof, teeming onto the spongy earth. The farmer thinks about how most gifts come with a cost. He shudders at the thought of another winter, but counts his blessings that the rain has once again ensured his livelihood entirely to society.

The rain is the nectar of the gods and the serum of the sky. It is neither a philosopher nor ancient mariner, neither writer nor jungle adventurer, yet it understands the importance of nature’s bounty. There is a saying and I quote that: If beauty is God’s signature, then rain is his final flourish.

Joshua Jackson still continued driving in the rain until the rain stopped. He had no other alternative but to drive in the rain using his fog light. Later when the rain stopped, Joshua Jackson parked his car behind a Hotel where he found himself an accommodation for a week.

Finally, he was able to go for his scheduled meeting of one week in the Conference room within the Hotel, he then experienced some amazing moments with his colleagues and other workers.