into the rain

I stared into the downpour through the window of my car and felt a bit like I was jumping from the high dive, but you can only think about it for so long and then it's time to get on with it.  I don't back down.  I fling open the car door and take off into the rain.

There is something rebellious about being out in the rain.  On purpose.  To play.  Adults just don't.  Umbrellas help us hurry from cover to cover and we don't, as a rule, like to get wet.  The sheer act of willing myself into the rain was alone exhilirating but the childish joy of dashing about -- not caring that I  was drenched through and through -- was bliss.  My limbs and lungs ... and heart moved at a pace I did not think about.  Barely noticing my burning legs and ragged breath, I could not even tell you where my head went.   

This rain is different from the spring rain.  It falls cold but does not seem cold because the ground is still warm from a thousand and more hours of the summer sun.  It smells different but no less sweet.  

The shower passed as I ran.  From hilltops I caught glimpses of the curtain of grey moving across the sky -- trailing fingers of fringe through the horizon as it made its way.  I thought it was like the tide moving out, but instead of shells, it left swads of mushrooms and a litter of freshly fallen leaves in its wake.