The Rain

I stand at the bottom of the stairs, pausing momentarily. I often do that, as if I am asking myself one last time if I want to leave the sanctuary of a covering overhead. But I do. It's the reason I'm here.

When I went to bed, a steady procession of raindrops provided a pleasant backdrop to my attempts at sleep. When I awoke that afternoon, it was still raining. It had been so long since I just went outside and let myself be washed in the rain. I had to go out there, immediately, and do it.

A friend of mine had a refrigerator magnet: “Some walk in the rain. Others just get wet.” I loved it. I remember in 8^th grade, our trip to Washington D.C. It rained for a fair amount of the trip. One night, we went to the then-new FDR monument, and it was pouring. Being out there sucked... for about a minute. Then we just accepted the rain, and we had a blast. That memory still stands out in my mind¹. One time when I was waiting in the overnight shift, coworkers who had just gotten off-shift went outside and played in the rain for an hour. For that hour, they were kids again.

I take that step out. It's raining moderately hard, so it takes a minute for me to get truly wet. There's always that step between dry and wet that's just annoying. When you get past it, though, you're free. I feel water drip from my hair, snake down my back. I close my eyes. I feel in concert with the Earth. For a few precious minutes, I am able to shut my mind off. I can just feel- that rare, precious state. I breathe deeply through my nose, that fresh, musty scent I wish I could bottle.

Anybody driving by would see me standing there, my arms stretched out. What is that guy doing? Or they get it. There's really no in-between.
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1 As well as what stuck me as irony: Standing next to a waterfall in a downpour, yet being prohibited from getting in. As if there was some kind of difference.