I take the dogs for a walk
in the rain. Only a little
rain—they’re little dogs, and fussy,
and don’t much care to be
wet—because a walk has become
an indulgence not to be skipped.
I breathe deep while I can,
with no mask, no happy adherence to
civic duty, to rob me of the taste of
wet earth on my tongue, but the dogs
are up to their knees in mud and
our adventure doesn’t last
long. Toweled dry and returned to their
daily comforts, they lick their feet and
drag their bellies and won’t think of it
again until we go out this
afternoon, when the air is sticky with
mist and the grass still soaked through.
I leave them to get groceries and
a big rain finds me, with a mask but
without an umbrella, looking forward
to breakfast. It comes
down in thundering tattoos, running
so swift along the gutters it must
have its own current. I think about
waiting it out but we’re all
falling victim to traffic
congestion in front of the sliding doors
and I’ve never liked to be
part of a crowd. I put my phone in a
plastic bag and shove it into my
pocket. I square my shoulders and test
my grip on the cart. I have
a hat and galoshes and this, I believe,
will be enough. I’ll be wet for a while,
but there are worse things, and
besides, there’s a joy in
running through sheets of rain, kicking
white-capped ribbons up from the shin-high
puddles as they go streaming
past, that my dogs would never
understand. There was a time when
I would’ve gone barefoot just to share
in the giddy rush. The rain is cool, but not
cold, and I want to laugh, so I do.
I try to open the rear hatch of the wrong car
three times before I read the license plate
in panicked wonder. I’m
parked one spot over, and get my
bags into the right trunk just a few
seconds later. It’s a miracle the overpriced
coffee I bought as an indulgence hasn’t
soaked through. When I come in the door
with five dripping bags, still laughing,
the dogs are waiting. I kick off my boots
on the doormat and they lick at my damp
ankles with all the disapproval they know
how to express. You silly creature,
what have you done to yourself
this time? I was human
again, I want to tell them,
for just a moment, in the rain.