It sprays me ever so delicately,
kissing and tickling my skin,
then drips down my neck,
sending chills and shivers down my spine.
It spits at me tauntingly,
teasing and laughing in its din,
then gushes over me,
cleaning away the dirt and the grime.
But regardless of its mood,
or the way it chooses to fall,
its need is understood,
and I truly love it all.
This rain makes my world
green and lush.
Nothing else is the same;
nothing else is West Coast fresh.
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