One day it was pouring rain and my Dad said let's go take our bikes out. My Mom and sister declined, so Dad and I went to pineapple field near our house. It was a total mud swamp but we went in. I remember this one really long puddle my Dad went through and called back to me that you gotta keep peddling to get across. Of course I faltered like halfway and toppled over into the mud. That day is one of my fondest memories.
This morning the weather was looking threatening but I went out to walk anyway. About halfway through I started getting poured on. But instead of joy all I could think about was how uncomfortable and inconvenient it was. I was bothered by the wet and the cold and wanted to get home as soon as possible. It's strange, the rain hasn't changed but I have. I guess it is trite to observe that anxiety and care tend to replace imagination and freedom as we get older. But it's felt more strongly in some moments than in others. I hope to experience again that joy I once got from playing in the rain.
Almost wanted to use "tears in rain" but title didn't really fit the post. Great scene though:
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