And then the rain came down…

In typical British fashion as soon as you start to organise outdoor activities the heavens open, we have been experiencing some major precipitation over the last week and the forecast is for more to come. April showers, more like the coming of a flood:) Amazing to think that just a few weeks ago we were walking around in summer clothes believing we had seen the back of the Winter.

I have often pondered on our relationship with rain. Under certain conditions I enjoy walking in the rain and I find when I am out on the water the rain does not faze me at all. I have come to the conclusion it is ‘city or work’ rain I find most challenging, for some reason it always feels ‘dirty’ and the head down hurry up run that I adopt when I am in it, is oppressive. Rain like people has may guises, the soft gentle mist of the Irish rain coating your face and lashes with a gossamer film of water to the therapeutic pummelling of the heavy shower cleansing and refreshing against the bare skin on your shoulders and arms. Each has is place in our journey and as with everything it is our attitude to how we interact with it that builds memories.

I think my love of rain comes from when I was a young girl. I grew up in a small village surrounded by farmland, during my summer holidays I would often pack up a small picnic and walk miles into the surrounding open country exploring and daydreaming, writing short stories in a battered old diary that went everywhere with me. Even then I was a very independent child, preferring to go off alone to explore not one for ‘playing’ with the other children in my neighbourhood. A very different world then. I would walk down to the river and catch fish in a hanky, tucking my skirt into the legs of my knickers so not to get my hem wet, or lie in the long grass gazing up at the clouds to see ‘pictures’ that I would write about. Often during those long summers I would be caught out in the open when the rain fell and I can still recall the childish glee of jumping in every puddle as I made my way to shelter, my Mother would often compare me to a bedraggled water rat as I came running in the back door dripping water all over the kitchen floor. The most vivid memory is when I was chased by a small group of bullocks (lol no pun intended) I would of been about 11, I had been out all day and was making my way back across the fields to return home along the river. It had been a very hot day and the sky was suddenly filled with the roll of thunder, heralding the start of a Summer storm. As usual I was following the slope of the hill towards the river, towards the footbridge, when lightening lit up the sky and the thunder felt like it was just overhead. It was then the bullocks ran straight at me, and I started to run, but not far, as I had misjudged how close to the river I was and found myself knee deep in mud where the cattle usually came down to drink. So there I was stuck, the stupid cattle ten foot away ‘laughing’ at me and then the rain fell. By the time I had worked my way free I was covered in mud and soaked through to the skin. Carrying my sandals I walked home using my dress to ‘wash off’ the mud from my arms and legs as the rain came down, I must really of looked a sight, but I was happy. I often wish I could capture that feeling today, when did I lose her? That carefree, independent spirit who loved to walk with her head held high and greet each new day as an adventure. When do we forget how to live and just exist, is it the thoughtless actions of others or our own stubborn pride that suppresses our natural inquisitiveness to explore the world around us? Would we walk a different path if we knew then what we know now? Questions to ponder for another day.

So if you have rain where you are take a minute to slip off your shoes and socks, tip your face to the sky and walk in the grass or on the beach, let the rain kiss your eyelids and cheeks, and smile it will be worth it I promise.