After the dull, soft thud of rain started to fall, I could feel that the water was still warm because the windows never felt cool. I wanted nothing more than to jump in puddles, feel the soft water slick on my skin, I wanted nothing more than to hear my kids laugh at our silliness.
A warm rain is soothing and sensual. My memories of warm rain varies, from shadow boxing at a dance club in the deserted courtyard by myself because no one else wanted to get their pleather and boots wet... to walking with my sister at night around the neighbourhood enjoying the childlike charm of being kindred spirits ...to running from the house to escape the oppression from within into the vast open arms of the warm rain. There were soft rains filtering through trees by a creek in the summer night where shadows provided cover from prying eyes and hard rains where I laid my burgeouning belly on a tennis court pavement, my body curled around her protecting her while I felt the cool water wash over me.
There were rains that washed my tears and rain that embraced me. There were rains that whispered sweet nothings while I slept and rains that roared his anger at me. There were rains that cooled my frustration and rains that soared my spirit. I've been lost in rain, discovered by rain, danced with rain and fought with rain.
I never feel totally alone in rain. Rain is like an amorphous lover, fickle and tempermental. Sometime you're parched for him and sometimes you wish he'd just leave you alone. You don't know when you will see him again, you only know he will return. You don't know what sort of mood he will be in, you only know he will affect yours.
I never feel totally alone in rain. But I was standing by the window looking out, my fingertips on the glass feeling the warmth permeate through.
I wasn't in the rain.