Rain

Something about walking in a medium cool rain always makes me happy. I like the greyness, the sound of the rain punching against my umbrella. There’s a point of wetness where the water ceases to matter. Squishing through puddles, you feel a smile rise to your face.

That’s the point where I find myself spinning my borrowed blue umbrella, marveling at how clear the green of the trees seems against the slate sky. I love how my ipod music sounds in the rain, as though nature has provided an extra melody, and even though my toes may be chilly and legs are wet down from the knees, I can’t help but want to be cheerful.

It’s a grey miserable day, and I want to be happy to show that I can, to show that the weather can’t control me. Or maybe it’s just because I’m glad I have someplace warm I’m walking towards. Knowing that soon I’ll be able to kick off my wet shoes, shed my wet pants and drop them in the middle of the floor until I feel like dealing with them, and then plunk down in front of the computer, or on the bed with a hot drink, or a cold one, and some popcorn, and read, or write, and do something only for myself.

Coming in out of the sun is not nearly as satisfying as coming in out of the rain. Walking through hard pounding rain feels like an accomplishment. Walking through misty rain feels like a fairy tale. Each sodden step a snapshot of your own journey. An adventure, fraught with peril splashed out by passing busses and cars. Holding your umbrella over you like a magical sheild that with the push of a button transforms into a spring loaded battering ram and nothing can stand against you. Nothing can escape you. Not your memories. Not your worries. Or your dreams.