You don't experience rain when you live in an apartment. Not really. Sure you hear the wet pattering against the roof tiles and rattle of window panes rapped by wind and water. Yet being 22 storeys high, you hear the descent in full glory yet never the impact. No heavy sploshing of water hitting the ground, no cacophony from a torrent crashing against cement floors, car hoods, rubbish bins and wooden doors.
You would miss out on the after-glow as well. No intoxicating breeze of newly shiny grass or even the sticky steaming damp rising from a drenched lawn or puddled tar road. No crumpled newspaper boats in the longkangs, long way from home.
When it rains, here in my box in the sky, I only hear the fall of heaven, not the embrace of the earth.
Maybe its time to make my way home.