Elif Shafak. Istanbul Bastard (№ 424195)

But then, when the last drops fall to the ground, and others hang on the leaves washed from the dust, in a defenseless moment, when we are not yet sure that the rain has stopped, and the rain is also not sure of this, peace suddenly descends into the light interval. For one long minute, the sky seems to apologize for the whole mess. And we, with our hair soaked in moisture and damp cuffs, still gaze gloomily and cautiously at the clearing azure sky. We look and involuntarily smile back. We forgive the sky. Is always.