I am not afraid to walk in the rain. In bad weather I get squirrelly, cabin fever sets in, I get dressed for weather and head outside to see the clouds, feel the wind and the rain. I’m the madman on the Monon Trail when the only other tracks are skis, mine are the only boot prints in a foot of snow, at 18 below.
Or the man who evaded the command to shelter when tornadoes threaten – to see and feel the glory of the wind again. I was 7, the car drove through a cyclonic wind filled with grit that stripped the paint off the car, the sound like static, the calm of traversing the eye, then seeing the whirling column receed at speed through the back window.
So, yes, I like weather. I got an early ride into McDonald’s to swim in rich WiFi, the ground wet, the sky afire with lightning. But coming home I was a pedestrian, so when the rain quit, still threatening, I set out the mile to home.
The puddles were big, the gutters high with runoff as cars were polite to me, dodging drowning drenching water, though sometimes I had to retreat deep into a yard or parking lot when a bus or truck simply could not get over. I skipped a trip to Kmart because wet groceries are icky and complicated to handle.
Sometimes I have to take one for the team. I could not get around a vast ocean of a puddle, so waded in, about mid-calf. I began to giggle. This is the fun part.
My hat protected my glasses from the rain. The rain increased as I approached the bridge crossing Pleasant Run. A rain-born waterfall laughed below. Workmen littered South Pennsylvania Street – did the rain bring them out? – digging deep to find a broken drain, another set removing the remnants of a tree. Not long after, I was home, shoes drying by a heater, dry clothes, the laptop dry, safe in its case all along.