It’s finally raining today, the first time in weeks. I could taste the dust in the air last week, particulates swarming everywhere, lilting their way into everything and everyone, a dancing haze of gray and brown enveloping the trees and dens. Today only the sky remains gray, only the earth remains brown. The air has been cleansed, filtered, and I can once again smell moisture, taste the water invading my pores, tamping down the grass, wilting the trees. The odors are muted, turned down just as the sunlight is diminished by the clouds.
The walk feels fresh today despite the same streets, the same grass and concrete. Pools of life have gathered in the cracks of the sidewalk, the water so clear I am tempted to drink, taste what the sky has gifted to us here on this hard earth, but I know I shouldn’t. I know there is life so much smaller than me, teeming everywhere, multiplying, dying, growing back again stronger, waiting to invade beings like me, giant vessels to harbor them, feed them. I move on, my companion pleased at my restraint. The wind, always ready with a practical joke, picks up every time we pass under a tree, jostling jagged branches and leaves starting to abandon their green who hold water like the eager younger brother wanting to endear himself to the older sibling pulling a prank. The rain and the trees and the wind join forces, soak us to the bone. I don’t mind a bit; water is life and I am bathed in it. But it’s always possible to drown in life.
It will be bright and sunny tomorrow, and all of this will seem like a distant memory. I’ll say: Remember that time it rained? Yeah, I remember. We took a nice walk in it. Well, the walk was nice; they always are, but I seem to recall you didn’t like the water in your fur as much. What can I say; I’m a four legged diva.