Isn’t it funny how when you’re reading a book with a highly emotionally charged scene, a lot of times the writer makes it rain? Or in the movies, or on television?
Rain is like a metaphor for tears in a lot of instances. So with that in my mind you can imagine the wry smile that came to my lips this morning when I woke to find a soft rain falling outside my window.
I say soft rain because even though it is coming down very consistently and thoroughly, it’s not *hard* rain. The drops are small, they’re warm and there is something comforting about them. I walked to my car slowly, not even minding my feet getting wet in my flip flops, not minding the sheen of water coating my face, much like dew on new grass. In fact, I loved it.
Two very distinct memories came to mind.
One, I was about sixteen years old or so and myself, my friends Laura, Steve, Rafer and Denver and I’m sure a few others went for a summers evening walk in such a rain. Even as teenagers we stomped in puddles on purpose and laughed our way around our small hometown. I came home soaked, much to the chagrin of my parents, but elated.
The second happened a few years ago. I had taken my notebook and gone for a walk in my favourite park and even though at the time I was under the trees, I wound up soaking wet. And happy.
It’s my last day at work today. Well, my last half day. Memories seem to be the order of the day too and whether that is because my day began with rain I won’t really know. I only know that I’m thinking of last impressions and the millions of times I have laughed with the amazing people that I will today leave behind.
Rain is a metaphor for emotions, it’s true, but it’s also a signal of change. Washing away what’s old and bringing about the bloom of something new. I might go stand outside in it today after I leave. Tip my face up to the darkened sky, and enjoy the moment. Savour all the good that has passed and ready myself for all the amazing I’m sure is to come.