Every once in a while I walk in the rain, on purpose. Yesterday was one of those days.
I was working on a painting when I looked to the window where raindrops were collecting on the screen. I wanted to go for a walk and breath fresh air, and to feel alive again. The sky was gray, and the wind obvious from dormant berry canes gently scratching at the window. Neither of these mattered. My inner voice said "Go! Go! Go!".
River, our dog, went with me for a walk. Somehow I knew she felt the same way, that she'd spent enough time on the rug moving only to stretch or change positions.
She and I walked 60 minutes in a light rain, umbrella-less
,on purpose. I had no care to hold anything above my head for an hour. I wanted, rather, I "needed", to move. And it didn't matter if it was fast or slow or in rain or snow.
The rain fell on my hat and face, and when I returned home my pants and shoes were soaked. But it was okay. It was nice, in some warped kind of way. River's coat was not too wet, since she has a natural water repellent to her fur.
Inside, she had something to do now besides lay; she went straight away to licking herself clean which I knew would take a good hour. I changed into dry clothes and appreciated the warmth of our home all the more.
A few minutes reflecting on our uncommon journey up and down a quiet neighborhood road, and having gotten all that I had needed from the nature, I went back to painting as if I had never left. And that is the fuel that is necessary for me to be creative, to spend time outdoors.