We were soaked in the rain. Willingly soaked. Well, except for the upper half of our body, kept dry because we were protected in hiking-worthy (though we weren’t hiking) rain jackets. Me, in a striking red coloured one. My husband, a cool black. Just the two of us, deliriously happy. As no sane person would wanna be willingly out in the rain.
It was around three in the afternoon. “I’m gonna go walk on the beach now,” I said to my husband. The sky has just opened up to let some tiny drops of rain down. “Ah, it’s still safe to walk. Only a slight drizzle,” I assured myself.
As I strolled along, feeling the powdery-soft sand yielding beneath my feet, the wind picked up speed and played with my hair. “Nice, this is nice”, I thought to myself as I inhaled the salty air.
The sky then opened up more, and the raindrops got fatter. “Maybe I should end my walk now and go back,” I thought.
I walked back. But somehow, instead of diving into our hotel’s beachfront chalet for shelter, I grabbed my rain jacket to head out again. And as if on cue, my husband has the same idea. Thus both of us with rain jacket on, walked out to the increasingly pouring rain. Grinning like idiots.
The colour of the sea changed to grey in a bid to outdo the darkened sky. I scanned the horizon. No lightning, we are safe. The waves rolled high and crashed upon the shore. We stood and stared into the open space. Both in quiet awe. Mesmerised by the beauty and power of nature.
As I licked the salty rain on my lips, my skirt absolutely soaked, I smiled from within. It felt like my soul was satisfied. That miss-play-it-safe-and-sensible has let her soul out to unfamiliar ground to play. I smiled even more with this new knowledge.
When was the last time I’ve done such a carefree thing? Heading out to the beach in the pouring rain. It’s crazy.
Oh, I simply must do it again.