Chasing the rain

 

I wrote all day today until I was crossed-eyed, then had a late lunch and went for a walk through the boneyard. 

I honestly believed my intention was to clear my mind, and to refresh my memories for something I'm working on in which it features prominently, but the truth is, it's one of the places where my memories of Beckett are most prominent. 

I had my ear buds in, and my phone was playing Rachel Portman's exquisite piano-rich score for THE CIDER HOUSE RULES when the rain started to fall, first lightly, then more heavily. 

It occurred to me that children love the rain—they're taught to scream and run for cover, something they've perfected by middle age, but it doesn't come naturally to them. What's natural to them is being in the moment, and finding magic in it, if there's any magic to be found. 

When you're a little older, and you have nowhere you particularly need to be, the rain, particularly in spring, matters less and less. Beckett loved it. It just sluiced off his coat like it was an oilskin. Maybe that's something older people and dogs share. By the time my walk was over, I was drenched. I had an ache in my right hand, my leash hand, and in my chest. I crossed my arms as I walked, something I almost never do. 

I've written about ghosts and haunted houses, even haunted graveyards, but the sweetest ghost haunts the one down the street. I don't know how many more visits to the boneyard I have left in me. If the rain sluicing down your face and soaking your hair makes you feel younger, as you walk slower and slower, savouring the heresy of utter not caring if you get wet, or how wet you get, the weight of the memories of the people, and the dogs, you've loved and lost has the opposite effect. 

On the way home, far up ahead in the park, an athletic young man walked and athletic young black Labrador. He was wearing a hoodie, so I didn't see his face, but I could imagine his expression as he tugged at his Labrador's leash to bring him closer and get him to focus a bit as the torrent fell straight down from the grey sky. 

I remembered the words of Ecclesiastes: "Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes." 

Good luck getting your Labrador to pay attention in the rain, young man. Do yourself a favour, though? Pay attention yourself. Hold these memories. Cherish them. Every single moment of them is what life is made of, whether you know it yet or not.