Because sudden storms mean change and change means life, always.

Standing under raindrops or wavedrops, wet and laughing, the clouds churning in enormous size.
(Though, clouds are often like that. Could you imagine? Millions of tiny drops of water, suspended in motion above everyone's heads. It's one of the most amazing things about this place.)

There's not enough water in many writings. 'Water' not as in 'meaningless padding', and not 'dry' as the common metaphor for turgid and unemotional. Just, rain or sea or pond or ocean or a glass of something. Wetness. It rarely rains in those novels, and when it does, it's always plot-relevant. As if it's the default. (Don't mind me, I'm just irrationally angry about this.)

And it's not for nothing there's a word for 'petrichor'. There is a smell, and a feeling to watery atmospheric events. The air feels so much more dense and vivid. I've fallen in love with it.