The perfect rain

I felt the first few drops as I walked down the street to my bus stop. Sporadic and tentative, they made me happy. It was a lovely day. Ahead of me, the sky was clear and bright and blue; behind me, mildly threatening and dark and gray. A brilliant contrast of sunshine and shadow.

The gullywasher didn't come until I entered the shelter of the bus. Only minutes later, I exited its dry confines with a splash into the unavoidable fast running water on the road surface. The air was rich and aromatic - you know the smell - the indescribable, intoxicating, caressing smell of rain. Spring rain mingled with sunshine. And dirt. For an instant I was transported to youthful days of bare feet and wet hair and rain on my face and girlish joy.

It only took a few moments for my shoes to be soaked through, my slacks wet to the knees. Still, I couldn't stifle the giggles that bubbled up from within. Couldn't unsmile the smile that touched the corners of my mouth. The shoe-preserving dance to avoid puddles and rushing streams was just so silly for all its uselessness. The shoes were drenched. So why not simply walk, in the rain? Why not even skip and dance and shout and allow the water wash over me? How cleansing to heed not the rain!

And I may well have renounced the umbrella altogether, yielded to the joy, had it not been for my good leather jacket and my sensible, grown-up reasoning mind. I clung to the umbrella, salvaged the leather.

But I still giggled.