The car moved through traffic, following the line of vehicles moving through the downtown. The rain fell slowly, creating rivulets down the window as I watched the buildings as we passed.I’ve always loved the rain. Watching it come from the sky and clean the earth. 

Dancing in it

When I was small we were the Rainkins, dressed in cheap multicoloured plastic coats, red, orange, yellow and blue. My brothers and I would spin in circles, playing a game we called super eyes.

Super eyes, super eyes, in a trance, do a dance.

Then we would fall dramatically onto the ground, feeling the cold wet on our back, but it couldn’t get through the magical Rainkin coats.

It’s been years since I danced in the rain.

The last time was in 1998, when my brother and I were in University and the rain came torrentially down onto the lawn where we lived together. We were soaked in moments, shrieking with laughter while cars slowed to get through “Lake Dalhousie”, the street we lived on.

This week, my daughter wanted to jump in puddles and I said not today, sweetie. You have school and we don’t want to be wet all day. Next time, maybe.

Now I sit alone, on my way to the airport. Remembering how much I love dancing in the rain.

And the next time my child asks if they can jump in the puddles I think I will help her, and teach her how to be a Rainkin too.