When we walk in the rain

Cold drops, like snow –or at least what she imagines snow would feel like –drops on her cheeks, her eyes, and on the pinkish membrane of her parted lips. Wet drops, like crystal tears from the God we believe resides in the sky; a faint smell of wet wood, wet leaves, wet grass, wet soil.

She took deep breaths in the rain which pitter-ed and patter-ed upon her black hair, which ran down the sides of her face in thin, thin rivulets of chilling moisture. She drew in the cool, sweet air and tried to catch droplets of the rain in her hands and in her mouth, just to know what rain would taste and feel like.

When we walk in the rain, she wondered, why do we worry if we would catch chills? We really should worry if we’re losing our minds instead.

Music in her ears; a melancholic number, a nostalgic number made for rainy days and staring out of windows in contemplative gaze. The little towel she draped over her head in an attempt to mimic an umbrella. Her face is laughing as her feet dance across the tar road in a clumsy tribute to the rain; feet shod in jogging shoes one size too small and soles worn out.

A journey she took alone, and in her solitary walk she knew many things would wait for her when she arrives home. A meal, a warm bath, a nagging mom demanding that she washed her hair or risk falling incurably ill.

A life.

She arrived at the peach-yellow gates of her home and smiled. How good it is to walk in the rain, she thought. I should do this again.

And then she sneezed. And sneezed. And sneezed again.

Oh, garnit kniddershins.









~A long overdue short story about the time I walked in the rain all by myself and enjoyed every minute of it. ~