It’s about to rain. The clouds are rolling in across the city and the horizon under them is a deep purple. There is an air of anticipation as the breeze ushers in the smell of fresh fallen rain. It’s a beautiful sight, one that is fully appreciated by anyone who has ever lived through a drought. The scene brings back many memories-some pleasant, some not so great; of dancing in the first rain as children, letting ourselves be soaked by the falling droplets as they pierced our clothing with their cool wetness. I’m not sure when I last danced in the rain with such freedom and abandon. There is something in society that says that adults do not dance in the rain, that it’s not a grown up thing to do. That’s the part of society that probably believes that the world should be painted gray and that we should all walk about like little robots on autopilot.
When did you last climb a tree and look out over the world from a higher elevation, when did you last sit on the floor and work on something? There seems to be a point where we loose some of the ‘child’ in us, as if sitting on the floor diminishes our adulthood. There comes a time when many of us loose the sense of exploration that we had as children when the world was new to us, and we slip into the comfort of our quiet routines. Think back and dredge up a memory of younger days, and then go and do that which you used to do. Why not? Who is there to be afraid of? And if you are still young, go out and accept the responsibility of adulthood, but do not ever loose sight of the adventures of childhood. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get wet.