[Excerpt from Adventures of Writers who Walk journal. January 15, 2013. Unprompted, just wanted to write.]
I walk slowly through the icy rain that smatters down upon my head because, unlike my hurried classmates, I dress warmly enough to enjoy the weather. Although I look like a puffed up bird with ruffled feathers in my magenta ski coat, it is worth it to have a few moments of cold and beautiful communion with the weather.
I find pleasure in navigating around the little puddles along my way. I even think it’s funny when flecks of spit from the clouds fall on my face. I’ve always had a very pleasant relationship with water, particularly rain. We have very fond memories of each other. When I look up at the chilly grey of the sky, I come to the conclusion that the new paint I have just splattered on the walls of my room back home was inspired by this color I have been surrounded by of late. It is a thoughtful color — pensive, introverted, yet gentle, like me (I hope).
Perhaps what I am experiencing is something I’ll never feel again, for the remaining winters of my life will not compare to the joy of having the first.