Well Versed In The Weather

What is it about the sound
Of winter rain
That makes me feel this way?
Is it the hope of a spring
Yet sixty days away
Or the thoughts of its consequences
When the temperature falls below freezing?
The drops fall
And run in rivulets
Down the crusty snow.
Droplets slide down rooftops
Contemplate icy fingers
But decide against it.
Gnawing, forever consuming,
This army of molecules
Rush toward their terrestrial destiny
But still the raindrops fall.
I have no control
And it troubles me.