Or, in the words of Paul Verlaine:
Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville.
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon coeur?
I like the rain, but it makes me melancholy. Which is to say, a rainy day is not a day for doing anything at all. Not a day for energy or activity, but one for laziness and sloth. In the springtime the rain is good for the ground, definitely good for the air (cleans out the pollen) and brings fruitfulness to all growing things: flowers, grass, trees, weeds, insects, pests, diseases.
Yesterday was Easter, and a good day, not raining. The preacher held forth on the way Divine reality shows up, unobtrusively but unmistakably, right when it seems like the harsh reality of the world dictates that it's time to abandon those ridiculous hopes, stop chasing a failed dream, and pack up to go home, admitting defeat. The message of Easter is that those who have been touched by God — in this case by the rabbi from Nazareth — will be recaptured again by a hope that is beyond all reason; there is no going back.
And still, it rains. Yet there is no going back.