it’s just a little rain.

by saracrolick

raindrops and piggies

Rain does nasty things to my bones—coated in ache, glazed with resentment, they know little quiet on the dampest days.

Today, before the rain, I ventured out into the world with my mother, a willing participant in the marathon errand running she loves so. We laughed and shared details about our lives—boring details, exciting details, any details—made so much richer because they were shared in the same physical space.

When we crossed the final item off of her list and stepped through the automatic doors, we faced a downpour. And because it was Mom by my side, who had nowhere to be but with her daughter, we waited.

We waited together and enjoyed the spray from rain pounding pavement mere feet away. We waited together and talked slowly, with intention. We talked as if it wasn’t raining, as if we were old friends enjoying lunch, probably soup, at a cafe. We waited and watched as people filed out of the store and broke into a trot, disgusted at the weather that met them.

We waited.

And when the rain slowed to a pour un-torrential, my mother decided it was time for me to fetch the car. So without discussion, I slipped the keys from her fingers to mine and took a confident step away from our little shelter.

When rain falls to our skin we usually put hurry in our stride. We create emergency umbrellas with whatever our hands happen to hold. We wince with each rouge drop that kisses our face.

But today I took slowed, deliberate steps. I let each drop fall where it may, surrendering each inch of this frame to the sky and its free-falling nectar. I refused my brain the satisfaction of hurry, I needed to feel it all. I insisted. I forgave the rain for being rain and accepted the wet on my skin as freely as the air in my lungs.

And when I arrived to the side of my mother’s car I let my arms hang limp at my sides. I felt the weight of each drop. I heard the plunk-plunk-plunk fall flat to my head. I let the rain collect like tiny moats—dividing skin from flooding shoes—and I smiled.

All this. All this experience hidden in just a little rain.

 

this post was grown on the gram

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