Drizzle

A recluse and a homebody, little entices me to step outside like I do when water falls from the sky. The smell of fresh grass and wet pavement is magic to the senses. But the experience of being surrounded by it all is another.

Akin to music, the droplets on my bare arms and falling around my eyes and tracing the arch of my nose sing their own song to my soul. I could withstand the temperature for any length of time, just watching as each droplet follows its path to the finish, wishing I could see my future so certainly. The cool, almost invisible droplets catch and cling to the hairs on my arms, dusting the frizzy hairs on my head to make a white halo. The purple-grey hue of the sky makes it feel as if time has halted, there in the courtyard, and I feel seen by the thousands of tiny friends that descend around me.

And so I smile at the drizzle as it lightly coats me, in my t-shirt and shorts on the way to do laundry. It is one of those moments, I know. The silent, meaningful moment worth a thousand unspoken words, the one that linger in your head hours after it has happened.