It was the kind of quiet, steady morning rain that kept people inside. Behind closed windows and doors, glancing out occasionally to say, “Still raining.”
So when I went for a walk, protected under my red umbrella, there weren’t many joggers or bikers out. They might have been at the gym instead or sleeping in. But they weren’t outside. Which meant it was easy to hear the small beige dog when she went by.
The noise she made didn’t sound like a dog. It was more like a little kid going down a slide – that wide-mouthed rush of air and glee that comes out in a loud, high “WHEEEEEEEEEE!”
The small beige dog was standing as tall as she could in the passenger seat of a fast moving blue truck. Her head was stuck as far as it could go out the window. Eyes wide, mouth ajar, whole small body thrown open in one huge “YES” to the rainy morning.
And she was making this noise. As though this wet, wet world was an outstanding place and she couldn’t believe it was hers to get soaked in.
Which threw me, beautifully. Because not once on this walk under my red umbrella had it occurred to me that I could feel that way about this morning.
So, with thanks to the small beige dog, I made a decision on the sidewalk: Yes.
Yes to the wet, to the rain, to standing tall and getting soaked in this outstanding world.