I watch as the water drips from the sky. Amazing, really, the water cycle. Who knows where these drops of water have come from, or where they will end up...
The sky is gray and the day has a contemplative feel to it. Rain slides down the window pane, racing each other to the bottom.
The minutes tick away.
And then the students arrive.
I sit on a bench just inside the doorway of the Hall of Arts and Letters and watch as they pour into the building, out of the rain.
The gray day is brightened with their colors.
Yellow rain boots, red umbrellas, polka dotted jackets and even a pair of green pants. Faces pass me, unaware of my presence.
Some have braved the downpour without umbrellas and the water slides down their head and neck, the hair sticking to their foreheads. A few teasing remarks about lost umbrellas and soggy clothes fly as several unruly boys spill through the doorway.
The scent of the rain comes in through the doorway. It is a spring rain. It has a different smell than winter, and yet lacks the humidity of summer.
Shoes squeak by and I watch the variety of them as they walk by.
Some wear sandals, perhaps too eagerly anticipating a warmer day, and their feet are soaked and dripping.
Some wear high heels and I can only shake my head.
Wet rubber sneaker bottoms lend themselves to the noise that has arisen, as they whine against the floors.
Umbrellas are shaken out, folded up and closed as the chattering students enter the building. Water drips onto the floor, leaving behind puddles and traces of the outdoors.
The pack of students grows as the time for class to begin nears. The noise level increases, as does the downpour outside.
Water now slaps to the ground, filling crevices and piling up, creating puddles and miniature streams along sidewalks and through the grass.
The stream of students slows to a trickle and I stand, lifting my bag to my shoulder. I step carefully around the puddles and head to class.
On another day, I might dance in the rain, lift my hands to the open skies and let the water fall upon my face, the warm drops spilling into my mouth and splashing on my hair. I might twirl around and enjoy the intoxicating freshness of spring, find puddles to jump in and squish my toes in the newly formed mud.
But for now, I shoulder my schoolbag and face the indoors, leaving the rain behind.
It will return another day.
This will be me.
“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but sit shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it." [Isaiah 55:10-11]
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| I love pictures like this. That's all. |
[This post was written in honor of Grove City's notorious rainy weather...and was an attempt to perhaps see it in a bit of a brighter, more romanticized light.]
