I remember one of my favorite days. It was late afternoon. The sun was out, warming my face. I was five. Riding high on the back of my Mother’s shoulders. The sky was changing, darkening. It began to rain, gently at first. One of those surprise summer rains. My Mother held on to my little legs and started to run.
“Come on! We’ve got to hurry!”
I laughed. My Mother laughed with me. As she ran, I spread my arms out and felt the rain fall on my face. We both kept laughing as the rain came down harder. I didn’t understand how it could rain when the sun was still out. I just knew that I loved the rain. It was cool, clean, refreshing. One of those rains that makes you feel alive again. My Mother kept running. I flew. We laughed. An open and honest kind of laugh. Unbridled by the weight of life. Free. After a short time, the rain moved on. My Mother stopped running. The sun warmed my wet skin. We looked up at the sky as it cleared. We had seen the rain fall through the trees, the sunlight glinting off the clear water. Felt the exhilaration of it on our skin. And in our hearts.
It was like a miracle.