Sunday, June 10, 2012

Rainy day

I am getting soft.

When it rains, I watch the drops pattern the gray sky from behind a window. I sip tea, warm and dry and comfortable. I cannot bring myself to get up and run outside, to conjure joy from discomfort. What would compel me, when I am so comfortable in here? It is more than comfort. It is complacency. Now that I have the choice, I only go out on the sunny days, when the water is calm, when conditions are fair. But there is a part of me that rebels. What joy is there in being apart from the weather? Force me outside in the cold rain! Make me ride my bike in it, spray flying in my wake. I want to arrive with soaking hair, shoulders steaming, face flushed. I want to drop my head to the pillow at night, muscles tired. Make me paddle in it, my boat slicing through the clouds, rain dripping from my hood, fingertips raw. Make me hike in the mud, in the snow, until water soaks my socks. Give me anything, Lord, I'll take whatever you throw at me, but not complacency. Not this. 

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