I close my eyes and let the warm late winter rain glisten my skin as I carry on shirtless where just two weeks ago I was here in five layers with my hood cinched up tight around my warmest winter hat – the one I tossed, metaphorically, into the river last night
It was a light rain when I started, I was prepared to cut my walk short and scurry back when the rain picked up, but it never did. The drops were huge and made tiny crashing noises in the dry winter grasses. I was able to finish most of my routine and make it back without getting soaked.
Instead of scurrying home, I found myself walking slower and slower to keep deep-breathing the first warm wet air of not-even-spring as it looms over me, over the river, over the things I fear and the things I cherish
The rich drenched air of home