Have you ever felt this?

Sometimes we just do things that don't make sense.

Since David and I moved to Rome, we sometimes walk to the grocery store closest to us. Most of the time, it's for essentials like beer and cookie dough, and a stroll can be a nice way to end the day. Today, however, I was just feeling cooped up and hungry, so I decide, despite the look of the ominous sky, it was time for a walk. 

Have you ever experienced summer rain that feels like relief? I'm not talking about when it's been dry and blisteringly hot outside, but the other kind of pre-storm that feels pregnant with moisture and pressure. Like a lid on a jar that just won't give in, just won't, and then suddenly, it does.

It's the kind of rain that makes the whole world feel wet, and the raindrops sound and feel more like a water balloon ambush. This was the kind of rain that started coming down just as I decided to walk to the grocery store. It ran every where, and it was so all at once that the ground couldn't lap it up quick enough. Little puddles were quickly big puddles, and the rain kept coming so hard and fast that soon I wasn't sure what was bouncing off the ground and what was falling from the sky. At first I tried to cover up with my rain jacket, but soon the world was so wet and soggy that the wispy pieces of hair that escaped my jacket were dewy cobwebs across my face. So, I pulled down my hood and bathed in it. 

It wasn't a cold and refreshing rain, but a steamy one that tasted like the green, summery June it frolicked with. In those minutes, I time-travelled. I no longer worked at a college, paid a mortgage, or cared whether the laundry was put away. I was approximately 9, freckled, and free. 

And then it was over. The grocery store's fluorescent lights and motion-censored doors released an attack of cold air, and I came to my senses, dripping. A large, middle-aged woman at a nearby check-out counter let out a cackle and hollered over, "Honey, you pick the wr-awww-ng tiiime to walk." "Yes, yes, I did mumbled back," trying to stifle my grin. I had definitely not picked the wrong time to walk. 

As I began to walk back, pretty waterlogged and now carrying groceries, the novelty of the moment began to wear off, that is, until I saw three children sitting at the end of their driveway sprawled out in the nastiest of puddles. One had a cup and was dumping the water on the other, and they were singing. I waved and yelled, "Y'all having fun?" "YEAH!" They yelled in unison. "Me too," I replied.

From somewhere came giggling, and I looked up at the house to see two mothers huddled in the front door, witnessing all the glee. I waved and they waved back.

And now I sit here, not sure what to make of this moment, but knowing I want to capture it before it's swallowed up as a yesterday. And I know if I say or think too much, it might start sounding like some sappy, made-up country song. But I will say this, it's been a really strange and really beautiful summer afternoon.

Fern Gully

3 days on the trail means 2 nights camping, and in my opinion, making camp is the very best part of "camping." The first night we were out in the woods, we hiked down into a gap between mountain peaks. Imagine tall trees scattered about a valley carpeted by baby ferns, but the trees themselves acts as the pillars holding up the ceiling of leaves - this was our gap. There, in between the trees, I felt like children in a gigantic room playing house. It was beautiful, secluded, cool, and as the wind came and went, it made all the miniature ferns nod up and down simultaneously so the whole forest looked alive. In the living carpet, there was a clearing just the right size for a tent beside a fire ring left by other hikers. And a step from the clearing, a stream trickled down gently cascading rocks (more to come about this water). In all seriousness, it looked like something from a fairytale.

So, when we started off to bed, we decided to leave the rain tarp off our tent because, without the tarp, our tent is entirely see-through. When we turned off our flashlights, we could barely tell we were inside a tent and felt a part of the magical gap. After awhile, we fell asleep this way... until the howling began. The howling and the thunder. I awoke suddenly to heat lightening filling the sky over and over, encroaching thunder and some horrible creature crying (which David thinks was a coyote). Then, it hit me, no rain tarp meant we and EVERYTHING we owned and had to carry for 2 more days were about to be very wet. I frantically shook David, and we, very confused, half-asleep, half-dressed, stumbled around in the dark desperately trying to put up and tie down our tarp. And I kid not when I say literally seconds after we ducked into our tent, I thought the second flood had begun. Our tent swayed with the weight of the water, and the rain roared in our ears. We even thought the wind pulled up one of our stakes, but later found out a branch fell on the tent nearly hitting us. Safe, dry, cuddled together, we fell asleep taking turns giving each other back-rubs as the rain pounded the tent. Needless to say, we were two very fortunate people - dry and uncrushed. Night one is Camp Elmer.

Rainy Day

I've got my rain-boots out, and I'm ready to take on the day. Hope yours is a good one.

    *loxpapers