Walking in the Rain

by Cheng-Ling Chen — October 31, 2007

After staring at the computer all day, my eyes burn into my bloated head. It is drizzling out, but I go for a walk anyway. I take an easy pace, breathing briskly but not breaking into a sweat. The rain melts on my raincoat, a white hooded trench with black geometric lines and dots drawn at a diagonal. Feeling snug in the fleece lining and fitted waist, I débuted it cheerfully.

Along the way, I count seven pumpkins (five carved), two wet dogs and their walkers, a bunch of black umbrellas and one lime green, and a Japanese maple tree turning fiery red. I linger in front of a terracotta shingled mansion, inhaling the smell of burning wood, and watch the house exhale through its chimney.

When I get home, the hem of my pants are damp and my fingertips chilled. But my head has cleared, and I feel alive, like I have focused on the world for the first time all day. As I wait for my licorice root peppermint tea to steep, I think, I should take walks in the rain more often. Of course, it is easier to get out there when there is a cute raincoat hanging by the door.