The unexpected rainy joy

I was just finishing my run this morning when it started to drizzle. By the time I had slowed to walking, the rain was coming in steady fat drops. Soon, though I was under a canopy of trees, I was getting drenched in a heavy downpour. An unexpected sense of joy came over me, and as I continued to walk up the trail, I gave in to temptation and threw my arms open wide, embracing the rain. I tilted my head back, freeing my face from the protection of my pink Red Sox hat, and was rewarded with a drop landing right in my eye.

That's when it happened: I laughed. I laughed in the pure joy of being caught in a woodsy early-morning rainstorm with no hope of staying dry. I laughed as I twirled around, savoring the refreshing shower.

As I exited the park, I allowed myself the luxury of a few tour jetes (a turning ballet jump) and laughed at my goofiness. I crossed the deserted street as the rain grew even heavier, and was glad no one was around to witness the huge smile of pleasure on my face as my clothes soaked through, and drops started falling from the brim of my hat.

I kicked off my sodden running shoes on the porch and as I entered my house, I laughed again, grateful for the gift of unexpected rainy joy that I'd been given.

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