Walk on a Rainy Day
With each step, with each thought, I figure out who I am.
Fog. Rain. Clouds. Wind. Sunrise. Half moon. Then harvest moon. More rain. It doesn't matter what it is doing outside. I walk through everything.
I like rain, no matter where I am, because it weeds out the less adventurous. During a rain, the park is quiet except the songs of birds, praising the rain and the crop of fresh worms. During a rain, the shore smells fresher, more alive.
Rain is pleasing to me. The crisp weather fills my lungs with fresh air, and I feel more alive. There is hope in crisp fall and winter air, even more than obvious warm summer sun.
Water is everywhere. The umbrella seems pointless now. The pleating on my frock is soaked, and I like how the hem sprays water as I walk. I have no particular destination. Just onward, not stopping. That's all I know. That's all I need to know.