I took a walk through the woods in the rain today. I heart rain. So much so that most people think I'm a little weird in this respect. When I was as young as three years old, I would sit out in a lawn chair in our yard during thunder storms, my small heart thrilling to the wind and wet, the crash and flash. "Pluviophile", while not a real word, is the urban dictionary's term for my condition: "a lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days." Next to walking on a beach, this is the activity that most feeds my soul.
And my soul needed...something. Since becoming aware of the imminent possibility of being consumed again by depression (as described in this post), I've been seeking out ways to avoid it, to counteract it, to rebuke it, to nullify it, to appease it, to fend it off...if that's within my reach at all.
So I took to the dripping trees. As previously mentioned, I love rain in general, but after a very dry winter and spring, it was exceptionally delightful. As the rain poured down, it seemed as though Nature was exhaling a satisfied, rose-scented sigh of pure gratitude. As though the earth had plucked up courage, refreshed and recharged and ready to fight another day, through drought and storm and whatever challenge might come along.
My own spirit responded. Seated on a rock beside a rushing stream, the soothing, soaking rain drenching me thoroughly, I breathed in that unique, invigorating scent that rises from wet woods and with it, renewed courage to resume my own battle, come what may. Whether it leads me through that deep, dark valley or across a serendipitous bridge to the other side, I will fight. Fight for freedom, for peace, for hope - for joy.