The crunch of boots against damp asphalt soothed my mind as my hair caught the raindrops, trapping them in the tangles I didn’t bother to brush out this morning because the downpour would create more anyway. But yesterday’s sweeping storm had placated today’s skies which, though still blinding white, let down only a light drizzle.
I had wrapped a clear plastic bag over my camera—a piece of equipment I protect with more care than I afford myself—and cut in it a hole through which my lens could peek through. I then flapped my coat over everything as a final barrier so, incidentally, I would walk the streets looking like I was trying to sneak a tub of food into the movies.
On foot I trekked from home to a nearby hiking trail that I knew wound up hills and down valleys, offering splendid views at any angle of my small city below. Rain brings out a sort of beauty seldom revealed on regular days here in sunny Southern California. So despite being put off slightly by the chill, I wanted to see what I could discover.
Up here in the mountains I found myself traversing a wholly different atmosphere, one which offered room for a sort of catharsis only ever stifled by the suburbs below. It enveloped my spirit without entrapping. It was liberation.
I leapt over the wooden steps along the path, my boots sinking into mud. My hair, tied in a too-big bun, still reached desperately for every puddle when I crouched down low for a shot. I relented and let the locks loose.
Stunning scenes continued to greet me in every direction. Lush flora all around seemed vivified by the drink, brimming vigorously with vibrant hues absent just weeks ago. Occasionally I spotted a pair of bunnies out at play, though they always bustled away whenever my camera and I inched too close for comfort.
Out in the open but shrouded by isolation, I felt safe. I was a soul refreshed by the sprinkle of rain, and I could ask for nothing more.
