When I was thirteen I biked to my friend's house. I'd say the distance was about five or six miles and took quite a while to get there. I spent all afternoon playing in the street, and at tea-time my friend's mum offered to drive me home because it looked like it was going to rain. I knew it would rain, but for some reason I didn't take her up on her offer, and biked home anyway.
Half way through my journey it started spitting and I began peddling faster to try and beat the rain, but when the rain fell, it fell hard and fast and pounded against the concrete. With it came flashes of lightening and claps of thunder, but I realised all of a sudden, that I didn't have any reason to hurry. As the rain hit my skin the cold shock of it quickly subsided and it gradually began to feel like a gentle massage, I slowed my pace and enjoyed the freedom of riding my bike in the rain.
Cars sped past, drivers eager to get to the warm safe shelter of their home, their tyres causing small waves of water to beat against the curb, but I wondered if they had taken one moment, perhaps even one second to really see what was happening around them, the rain wouldn't have seemed like such a big inconvenience.
When I got home I was soaking through and through, but I was happy. I felt free. It had been just me and my bike, in the rain and thunder, bathing in nature's glory instead of hiding from it.
Today I was running towards the shelter of the bus stop, the heavy rain reminiscent of that when I was thirteen. The tap tap tap of the rain hit my umbrella and I scowled at the inconvenience. My uniform would get wet, water would seep through my shoes, then suddenly I remembered me on my bike. I lowered my umbrella and tilted my head upwards.
When I got home I was soaking through and through,
but I felt free again.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment