It’s raining again. Rivulets of water stream down the window, forging clean paths that lead to nowhere. I watch you playing out the back with your friend, mouth open to the rain, laughing, screeching, uncaring, and I’m almost envious. It always seems to be raining, sometimes harder than others. I can’t remember the last time I felt warmth, the last time my vision wasn’t hazy and blurred.
You see me watching and you beckon, but I shake my head, my mouth not breaking out of its set straight line. I’m afraid of taking that step out of the comfort of my living room.
The door opens and the shock of the cold air disorientates me, catches me off guard, as I allow you to pull me into the garden where we spin and whirl, my initial resistance and protestations slowly fading.
Before I know it, before I can stop it, I am with you, smiling, then grinning, finally laughing out loud, and it’s not as cold as I imagined, and the rain’s not the enemy I deemed it to be, and the world spins around me as I laugh and cry at the same time, pulling my cardigan around me, telling the cold it’s not in control.
Flower petals, heavy with water, bow to our laughter, and birds clean their feathers in the useful puddles on the path, before satiating their hunger on the offerings thrown up by the inclement weather.
Afterwards, drying off, I see the rainbow appearing in the east. The sun is finally breaking through. I hold you close, kiss your head, and thank you for teaching me to dance in the rain.