Water is pouring down from angry clouds, covering the city in a wet embrace. Thirsty plants rejoice as they greedily amass the water, beseeching, wanting only that the gentle rain caress them further. Albeit such may be, others are not likewise pleased. Humans desires not the water to be, desires not the water to invade their private space, but it presses on further, causing instead hurt and begrudge. A man raises a fist to the sky, cursing the rain. But how can it be that he blames the rain? The rain only is, it means neither harm nor favor. And yet so easily misunderstood.