The moisture felt on the tips of my slightly pointy shoes today during my stroll on the grass must have been dew, not rain, because it has been completely rainless for these two days.
But in the end, rain or dew, both being natural water, what is the big deal to try to differentiate the two? Why do we, in this country, hate the former so much, yet feel so little about the latter? But by the act of hating, we also pay a lot more attention to the former than the latter. Maybe the dew on my shoes was actually the embodiment of absolute jealousy hidden too well amidst all the dog poos.