Rain and a walk

Yesterday I gathered my things and went for a walk–library books, a snack, journal, water and iced tea and wallet. The sky was half gray, half blue. There wasn’t far to go; the library is right down the road, and next to that is a little park, half taken up by some kind of game pit, rectangular and half-full of hardened sand. The edges are planted with flowers, and there is a gazebo off to one side.

I had one book to finish reading, a few sections to read from others (I am drowning in library due dates and determined to return books), and I sat down in the gazebo, on one of its strange four-person picnic tables. I placed my tea on my right, water on my left, and began reading. When I needed to pause, I could admire the bumble bees and butterflies on the flowers, or, later, listen to the rain.


Something about rain I find expansive. I love the sound of rain, splashing and pattering. I adore the cool, wet air that blows through when you sit just out of a storm’s reach, and how rich colors turn when the skies are dark with clouds.


It’s been a long time since I’ve reveled in silence and solitude, what with podcasts and Netflix and to do lists and so much else, but yesterday I did. I wanted to drink it in, glory in it, sit there until the sun came out again.

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