23.3.00

Soaked To The Skin

Some things just defy description. They are so fleeting that they refuse to be captured in words, dissenting violently against having their beauty and joy be caged by letters and sentences.

I always have to try.

When I left work tonight, the rain had already been beating steadily down for ten minutes. I'd heard it thump against the window beside my desk, a steady tapping like fingernails on glass - an unlikely option considering our office is on the 12th floor and our picture windows are sealed tightly.

It was even better when I finally made it outside.

I skipped down the glimmering street, kicking up water and giggling to myself, holding my arms open and wanting to hug the dark night sky and all its clouds as they poured their chilly bounty down on me. I was in a mid-length-sleeved t-shirt and the rain stung as it whipped my forearms, but I could only twirl around as I walked to the train station, slowing my pace deliberately to enjoy the feel of autumn's first real shower falling upon my face, rushing down my glasses in a blur and rendering my vision almost to nil.

The rain continued to fall hard during the ride to my station. I barely noticed it, so soothed was I by its gently hypnotic rhythm against the carriage windows. A biting wind snaked in whenever passengers departed at their stop, ruffling the pages of my magazine and breathing coldly against my neck, making me smile at how refreshingly beautiful it was.

On the drive home from my stop, the rain buffeted my car, coming down with a force that made even the highest setting on the windscreen wipers next to useless. It made me smile; my whole outside world was abstract, a nighttime landscape set on a gentle spin cycle. I had to drive slowly, much more slowly than I do when the road is dry, lest I cause an accident. I arrived home safely, and the rain continued on, laughing at and with me in amongst its gentle pelting, finding my fascination with it amusing.

Now I'm inside, safe from catching a cold, slightly less damp than I was before, listening to the rain drip from front porch, trickling over the roof tiles and down the storm drain. The wind caresses the chimes hanging amost my mother's plants, creating a gentle melody to complement the percussion of the night shower.

Tomorrow I will hear on the news of the overnight weather, and I am sure there will be words and phrases like "bleak", "a spot of bad weather", "a nasty end to a fine day".

I will smile and imagine that I'm the only person in the world who knows about the secret beauty of an unexpected rainstorm.