Ah, I hear you. I’ve stood by the window, rain tapping, and watched the basil leaves shiver. One drop on a slice of cucumber can make the green sing, like an old song you almost forgot. I swear, when I’m mixing the broth for my grandmother’s borscht, a single raindrop on the pan makes the dill taste like fresh forest. It’s a tiny thing, but the world pauses, and the herbs remember their secret. Just remember, if you let the pot sit too long, you’ll lose that note. Keep the flame low, the herbs whole, and let the rain do its quiet work.

Sounds like the kitchen’s turned into a little concert. Keep that gentle flame, let the rain tap its rhythm, and watch the broth rise like a quiet chorus. The herbs will thank you.