Dancing in the rain
Once upon a time, so long ago that all remains of the memory is the fact that it happened, there was a little girl who danced in the rain. Summer showers pouring down, she turned her face to the sky and she spun and she danced.
I don't know why I have carried that scrap of memory with me for so many years, but there it is. Once I danced in the rain. Once, before life had its way. Once, before a deluge of 'don't do that' overwhelmed me. Once, before depression tightened its grip on my life. Once upon a time. But through the years, always in the farthest corner of my mind something kept whispering, "Once, you danced in the rain. One day, you will dance in the rain again."
Today it rained. I hid in the house as long as I could, but a family has to eat and I hate paying overdue fines at the library so off on my errands I went. First stop, the library, where I pulled my coat around me, hunched my shoulders and scurried into the building. Just like every other grown up was doing. But when I left, suddenly there was that memory again. Once, there was a little girl who danced in the rain. My shoulders straightened. My steps slowed. And as I walked to my car I lifted my face to the rain falling down on it, and I smiled. Not quite a dance, but a start.
What is your 'dancing in the rain'? What joys are held only as distant memories? Does it seem as if the time for joy has passed you by? Lift your face; feel the rain. The time to dance is coming again.
I don't know why I have carried that scrap of memory with me for so many years, but there it is. Once I danced in the rain. Once, before life had its way. Once, before a deluge of 'don't do that' overwhelmed me. Once, before depression tightened its grip on my life. Once upon a time. But through the years, always in the farthest corner of my mind something kept whispering, "Once, you danced in the rain. One day, you will dance in the rain again."
Today it rained. I hid in the house as long as I could, but a family has to eat and I hate paying overdue fines at the library so off on my errands I went. First stop, the library, where I pulled my coat around me, hunched my shoulders and scurried into the building. Just like every other grown up was doing. But when I left, suddenly there was that memory again. Once, there was a little girl who danced in the rain. My shoulders straightened. My steps slowed. And as I walked to my car I lifted my face to the rain falling down on it, and I smiled. Not quite a dance, but a start.
What is your 'dancing in the rain'? What joys are held only as distant memories? Does it seem as if the time for joy has passed you by? Lift your face; feel the rain. The time to dance is coming again.
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