In my hometown of Glasgow there are many types of rain. There is the kind that pours down vertically for long periods of time. Then there is the type that launches itself at you horizontally (usually aided by a stiff breeze ripping across the River Clyde).
There is a third species of Glasgow rain, my favourite, its the kind of rain that seems to hang in the air. It lazily descends. It hovers and coats and clings to everything. It is actually the best kind of rain to run in. Some people might call it drizzle, but I would say its much finer than that. I just call it 'Glasgow Rain'. My grandmother would probably say it was 'dreich'.
Today, in my little corner of France, I was treated to a dousing of 'dreich'. The landscape looked as if all the bright vibrancy of summer had begun to be drained out of it. It was beautiful. I felt like I was looking through a sheet of tracing paper.
The slow decent and the lack of wind left grasses and leaves encrusted in a pretty gravity defying, spectacular way.
Elsewhere, the succulents used their precipitation to create little magnifying glasses.
As the Russians say 'There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing'.