Rain is so rare in Beijing that I can even remember what I was doing and which umbrella I was holding on those days. The scene after the rain is refreshing: the fragrance in the air, the touch of the raindrops on the leaves, composing a misty landscape painting.
Rainstorms begin to frequent the city in early summer. However heavy the rain is, what follows is always a brilliant sunny day. Half of the year has gone by.
Times passes as quietly as water in a brook.
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