Just got back from a short run in the rain. I'm soaked! But it was some kind of wonderful.
It wasn't too cold out, and the hurricane-force winds had not yet whipped up, as they are expected to do by mid-day.
It was dark as I set out for a trot around my neighborhood. It was hard to see the puddles and new patches of mud, and the new rivers that were rushing down through the gutters. I had to watch where I set down my feet, and I missed a few times, so my feet got soaked. I felt the drops on my face, hair, arms, and legs. The drops were gentle, constant, a murmur. A car would pass, and its headlights would illuminate what a true downpour I was running in.
But the air felt fresh and clean, and I'm wide awake, and calm with the beauty of this season's first big rain. I almost didn't make it out this morning. It was delightful to wake this morning and hear the ping of drops against our bedroom window, and that music of rain in the background.
Our window was open, letting in that fresh cool air, but my husband I were cozy under our quilt. Halfway between sleep and waking, that sweet drowsy place of dreams and promise.
But, now, reality. To the shower, to work, and, before I go, I must roll up some towels by the door of our basement, in case the rain, which is expected to be pretty constant and heavy today, causes some leaking into the room.