The streets glisten in a foggy haze, the air is moist, and there’s an overwhelming smell of damp.  Reading that you may be turned away remembering such a day as that.  “Ugh, it’s terrible out!” has become a common notion.  Where did we get this pessimistic outlook towards rain?

I look around me; I see heads down, buried in their own chests. I’m haunted as the faces of strangers are hidden under umbrellas.  A girl, shielded by her jacket, searches for shelter.  When were we universally conditioned to fear the rain; to cower in it’s presence?

Walking through the city today I asked myself that very question.  I saw the disgusted looks of passersbys rushing to reach their destinations.  To be inside.  To escape the rain.  Running from something seen as undesirable.

Rain still beating down I slowly lower my umbrella and stow it away.  My chin raises, escaping the confines of my neck.  Head toward the clouds my eyes instinctively close.  Wet kisses from the sky wash over me.  Each drop was more refreshing than the last.  A cold shower?  Hardly.  The sporadic placement of rain landing precisely where it’s meant to though still a surprise with each subsequent splash.

I feel my shoulders relax and fade into me.  My hands reactively turn upward craving the the fresh drizzle of water.  Like tiny magnets; each one pulling me delicately further up into the heavens.

I must have looked a character to those around me but I didn’t care.  A sole face in a sea of umbrellas.  I felt the strain and stress of life wash away.  Instead of placing the rain as an inconvenience I embraced it’s refreshing qualities.  It’s a gift to me, to the city, and to all those within it.