Running through the rain, but laughing,
Remembering similar races;
when I was smaller and the rain was a holiday.
Feeling it on my skin, soaking in,
releasing the toxins of responsibilty,
for the rest of the world to bear.
The faster I run the quicker the warmth rushes.
What stopped us from savoring rain,
collecting it in our pockets, making it our
badge of honor?
Why should we steer away from puddles
that used to be invitations?
Cold toes, curly hair, shirts that smell a
little different when damp, bright eyes
waiting to feel it wash me clean again.