Raindrops like gun pellets

Probably it's a drift from me towards the crass, momentary and sensational, but I find it necessary, with a flair and flow, to note down a fascinating experience. I don't know what makes me start in such high-pedantism, probably my interests in calm and unadventurous, academic problems; but it seems that all that doesn't stop me from appreciating, nay, celebrating today's ride in the rain.

In my childhood, I used to play with what we called an air-gun, which shot yellow pellets the size of cherry seeds with a great amount of force. When they struck someone, one could, if carefully precise, say that they stung oneself.

This evening, I realized that my jacket had given up the ghost of its protective past, and cheated me instead of the rain, for just as I rolled out of the parking lot, I could feel my skin complain about wet clothes. Slowly, I realized it wasn't a complain, but an outcry at a potentially interesting time to come. This roughly accompanied my giving up thoughts about being cheated by the jacket-vendor. As I sped through constant water-hangings, I realized two things- my spectacles had to be removed for the rest of my ride, and my speed had to be carefully moderated, at least till I knew more about riding in the rain. As I gave up my specs, I realized that my eyes were bared to heavenly drops, heavenly here not connoting their blessed divinity, but simply their velocity at having fallen from so high, if not their encountering me, in my own high velocity. My intervals for blinking quickened, an immediate adaptation to things, and at one time I even had to use my left hand to shield my eyes from above, which I now recall, resembled shop rooves, or caps with a jutting shade, as if the pattern came naturally to me. Still, I could not help blink constantly, so that it felt as if my ride were not being completely watched by me, but by the heavens that sent those drops. At no point, though, did I ever feel like complaining about the general scheme of things, if I may say so....