I’m running in the rain again.
It’s not a very heavy rain…more like a gentle drizzle.
It’s not the kind of rain that blinds you or makes you blink to try to see ahead.
It’s not the kind of rain that makes you shiver or chills you to the bone.
Rather, it’s a rain that is just there…persistent…Insistent.
You consider going inside, so you don’t catch a chill…but you know that it’s not really chilly.
So you just keep running…pushing on.
As we run, we become part of the rain.
The water coats us… we breathe in the moisture.
The drops are interrupted in their course from sky to ground by our passing, almost as if they are making room for us to continue on.
The rain becomes part of who we are; our forehead becomes damp and we change our rhythm to accommodate the conditions of the wet road.
We don’t control the rain… and the rain only controls us if we let it.
Rather, we are one small piece in the pattern of the drops.