Running in the Rain

As I stood on the pavement outside my hotel, waiting for my watch to find its bearings, a connection to the unseen satellite somewhere in the heavens above, the rain began to fall. The man in navy canvas overalls who had been diligently clearing the pavement outside the hotel gave me a quizzical look. The thin stretched fabric of my t-shirt offered little protection from the rain and I felt each drop like a tiny finger prodding me, as if underscoring the punch line of a joke.

I found a song as my watch found our place on the earth and I began to run. Turning right toward the park the rain swept my legs like a sheet falling away at the edge of a bed. I quickened my pace a little and for an instant considered turning back. Heart and heat, restrained by rain and wind. A sleepless night leaving me still in a waking dream, unsure of my place or course. I pressed on.

Inside the park , I veered from a familiar course onto a path that looked like a rotting carpet discarded in a field, grass undoing the weave, as if it were trying to pull its grey black fabric underground. I found myself in a meadow and in a few minutes by water, just yards from my usual track and yet in a completely different landscape. I tracked the water’s edge; a sudden dark slash of rain wrapping me.

The sky was spread with dark, raggy clouds and yet there was a brightness beyond them, a window hung in black lace. I crossed a stone bridge and turned again, quickening my pace , finding the sandy horse path and imagining a canter , then a gallop. I focussed on the air filling my lungs and pushed on until the rain on my face felt like surf, straining against my own bounds.