When I left the office this afternoon, the air was hot and stuffy. The stairs were dark. The traffic blocked. The rain came unexpectedly, with thunder and wind, ripping branches and chasing mothers and toddlers away from the park. Little streams burst out from the roof of the buildings, down the pipes, unto the streets. A tree was waving its leaves in the middle of a small square as if trying to restore order, calming the winds and directing the cars. There was a tacit pact between everyone in the traffic not to honk anymore and let everyone move at their own pace. My blouse, shorts and shoes were full of water.
I entered a farmer’s market. I ate fried carp and polenta. Picked veggies and cherries and told myself once again I will not buy from the supermarkets anymore and will support the small farmers. I wrapped myself in a dry scarf and went out. It wasn’t raining anymore.
The rain felt like a baptism, blessing and cleaning, a reminder there’s a living nature around us.