I like rainy days – they are so intimate, inwardly, and introverted. It is as if Mother Earth was giving you permission to retreat and rest. Nothing is better than a good book, a hot beverage, a warm blanket and jazz, cocooning me in my house, safe from the waterfalls from the sky, safe from the waterfalls of human interactions. Perfect recharging.
But it is not what I do right now.
The rain pitter-patters. Falling, falling, falling, the raindrops splatter against the pavement. Falling, falling, falling, the raindrops splash in the puddles. Falling, falling, falling, the raindrops tickle my cheeks.
It is one of her crazy ideas, being outside when the heavens opened and it’s raining cats and dogs, taking me out of my comfort zone. Again.
She tells me to jump in the puddles.
“Come on,” she says, not taking no for an answer, “Let your inner child out! She deserves some fun!”
“My inner child?” I ask, sceptical but intrigued.
“Yes, that part of yourself that needs to be taken care of, you know, that part which wants to be permitted to be free, to have fun, to be in the moment, like back then, when you were a little girl,” she says.
I used to jump in puddles and dance in the rain. Long, long ago. So long, I am trying to remember when.
She jumps in first. Spreading her arms wide, she swirls and twirls, stomps her feet, splashes waves of rainwater out of the puddle, and laughs, laughs, laughs.
“Woooo!!!!” she shouts, “Hey, rain, take whatever I don’t need anymore. Take it! Take it!” she sings, laughing, laughing, laughing.
“Aw, sod it!” I say, and I jump in, too.
The rain pitter-patters. Falling, falling, falling, the raindrops splatter against the pavement. Falling, falling, falling, the raindrops splash in the puddles. Falling, falling, falling, the raindrops tickle my cheeks.
How liberating it feels to dance in the rain! Becoming one with the rainfall, becoming one with nature, I am raindrops falling from the sky.
So I jump. And I splash. And I sing at the top of my voice:
“Hey, rain, take whatever I don’t need anymore. Take it! Take it!“
And I spin, spin, spin until I am dizzy, laughing, laughing, laughing.
“Thank you,” I mutter when we finally stop.
She smiles at me and says: “Shall we go home and have a cup of the witch’s brew?“
“With raspberries, apples, ginger, cinnamon and honey?” I ask hopefully.
“Just as you like it,” she responds, magic brimming out of her.
I smile back, and we return home to the safety of jazz, blankets and warm beverages.
But…
It turns out I like being the raindrops, too, so dancing in the rain finds its permanent place in my well-being toolkit.
Birkiverse 