Upon Us All a Little Rain Must Fall

The druid of my soul considers cycling in the rain as one of the main ingredients he uses when making soul curry. I had a generous helping of it a few days ago, when I was out with a borrowed cycle, and my soul is still burping contentedly.

The skies had been deliciously grey all day that day, and was slowly darkening outside my window. A gusty wind was distracting me from my work and wanted to play. Distant echoes from my mum and grandmother were telling me to leave before I got wet and caught a fever. I listened to them obediently and set out. Just then, with an almost inaudible chuckle, it started to rain. I decided to set out anyway. And so, zipped up under a raincoat with an overzealous hood that obscured a quarter of my vision, I cycled home in the rain. It  It was four thirty in the afternoon and the roads were empty.

The only sounds were of the rain falling against the world and of the wind blowing through trees. I cycled past a bakery exuding inviting smells of hot food, along a road lined with trees, past a group of happy school kids who didn't bother with raincoats and past knots of people taking shelter from the rain. All the while, there were rain drops trickling down my face and drumming on my head. My jeans and shoes soaked through in no time. I had forgotten what it was like to cycle in the rain. It took me completely by surprise and it was not till a little later that I slowed down to enjoy it a little more. 

Fifteen minutes with a cycle and the rain was all it took to make me feel like a carefree balloon in the wind.

Hello monsoon! I missed you.

A picture from long ago, taken when I went cycling with a MoonRiver.

(Pardon my soul, it just burped again)

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Other posts on the rain:

Absent-Minded Miss Monsoon

A February-June Romance

A Pictorial Guide to Stashing Away Scents

Storm in a Teacup

The Morning After