Our shoes getting filled with water, our hair soaked with rain. We have hoods on our rain slickers, but we let them down and both look skyward, letting the rain drops pelt our foreheads and cheeks and lips.
We breath in the clean, wet, cold air. We hear the sound of water rushing down our hillside gutters.
The water, clear and rain-fresh. Little waterfalls suddenly forming in streetside gutters. Truly a thing of beauty if you stop to look and contemplate.
Such an afternoon brings back many memories of similar afternoons in my past and his past, similar rainy afternoons in different places when we were both younger, and life seemed so full of promise and radiance.
But life seemed full of promise and radiance on this rainy Friday afternoon walk. My son on his scooter, gliding through puddles, making a whoosh of wheels through the water. Us strolling together, chatting, together appreciating the wonderfulness of it all.
Cars cruising up the hill. Wheels slick on the wet asphalt.
Little raindrops on twigs, that water rushing in the gutters pushing itself past small barriers: Twigs and a leaf that probably fell from a tree in November and was never blown by the wind from its place.
I don't want to get too poetic, because poetry is not my forte, but my son and I had a beautiful few moments together, on our walk in the pouring winter rain.