One of my favorite memories of Paris is that of a early-evening thunderstorm.
My wife and I were sitting under the awning of a cafe on Rue Cler, sipping wine and watching Parisians going about their business, when the sky turned an amazing color of yellow. The clouds glowed like someone spray-painted them with that gold hue you see on the picture frames of Baroque paintings. A few minutes later, that golden hue faded to a bruise black. Then the heavens opened up and fat raindrops splattered down for about the time it takes to get a French waiter's attention, wetting everything just enough so that the lights of the cafe reflected off the damp street. A flash of lightning, then a tremendous roll of thunder and the rain stopped. Everything smelled fresh and new.
Sitting under an awning in a French cafe, looking at the reflections off the wet street, sipping good wine in good company . . . let it rain, let it rain, let it rain!
-- Mike Beebe