A frolic in the rain
Yesterday I ran in the rain. It was a downpour. A deluge. And I was wearing my good clothes that shouldn’t ever get wet or dirty. My leather go-to-Sunday-meeting boots were freshly polished and destined to never meet a splotch of mud ever again.
I had to get to my car, so I sucked it up, buttercup, and leapt out the door of the Legion with a curdling cry and a kid-like shout of joy and ran whooping down the sidewalk through the ankle-deep river of surging, gurgling water. I haven’t run in a rain like that for years, and it felt wonderful. Clothes were matted. Feet were soaked. Glasses were all fogged up. And I ran like a racer, whooping and shouting like a maniac. I was a kid in childhood glory again!
Halfway down the block, not even out of breath yet, still galloping like a cowboy and screaming with delight, I suddenly realized that I forgot where I had parked.
This morning my car is in the driveway. My clothes and boots are going to be just fine. I am reveling in the memory and reminding myself to get out and run in the rain more often.