Rainstorms are like a complex song. The sounds are stacked on top of each other until all you hear is the mixed version. But listen closely and you can separate the layers.
In the middle is the strongest of the sounds--the constant tiny raindrops that fall so quickly and so close to each other that they greet your ears with the steadiness of a waterfall. Not a Niagara-type waterfall, but a smaller one that doesn't crash but instead constantly gushes.
The layer closest to you is, usually, the sound of heavier drops as they fall inconsistently from gutters or window panes. These drops or still being fed by the rainfall, but they are hampered by human creations. They are given time to join together and fall as they may--harder and less often. Their noise is louder and joins the waterfall effect as a staccato layer.
And in the distance is the patter of the rain through the trees. It's a two-fold layer. The water hits the foliage with a gentle slap--a patter, if you will. Then the water falls again; this time it is inn larger drops and makes many different sounds as they hit the different ground coverings. Puddles, play sets, logs, grass, flowers, leaves--each with their unique surface.
Together, it is a cacophony of nature. And, to be cliche, music to my ears.
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