Summer rain


I finished writing a small piece, gave it a “final” checked, and clicked sent. I sank into the chair. I needed a break, maybe going for a walk and shake the numbness of the tiredness. But before that, I really wanted a sweet, but luck wasn’t on my side, because there were none of the little treasures at home. I followed my addiction to the closest convenience store, but on my way there, it started raining, it was not a drizzle, which we call kosame (小雨) and neither a proper rain, but something in between, something my Okinawan grandmother would call “summer rain.” Summer or spring, the raindrops started falling, and those who weren’t well-prepared, like me, were running trying to scape nature. I would have followed them, but when the rain fell onto my skin, a primitive sense of nature sparkled and invaded me. And I let myself sink in it.

It made me feel alive.

I kept walking without rush, and my relaxed pace called people’s attention, someone would even stare, but I couldn’t care less what anybody would think of me, because I was having a blast. Among people, in the middle of the street, I was having a moment with myself. Got my little treasures and made my way back involved in a peaceful aura. It was time to carry on with life.


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