Today it rained heavily my end of the city.
Looking outside I marveled at the nourished raindrops. A sense of nostalgia about the rainy days of my childhood set in and quickly overwhelmed me.
I wanted that downpour on me. And it was urgent.
So I decided to get out, embrace the rain, kiss it, hug it and get wet and totally drenched.
I dressed down to my shirt and track pants, then stepped out excitedly and strolled into the rain. No inhibition. No turning back.
The nourished rain drops, interspersed with feebler companions greeted me in a decisive frenzy of direct hits and passing smooshes.
The larger drops hit me like forgiven stones recently turned into water in their new sin-free life. The feebler ones touched my clothes, face and hands like tiny angels guarding the water stones for triumph on occasion of sin.
Initially the hits on me were loud, rowdy and bouncy. Within seconds, I was all wet, shirt and pants clinging onto my body in an indecisive copulation of shock and excitement. The hits changed tone and manner and they now fingered my body like a distracted lover.
I stood in the middle of the small field outside and let the raindrops have me and soak me all they wanted, how they liked.
Oh the strokes. The nourished ones hit me with oomph. The feebler ones caressed me with gentle sprays of wetness that appeared to merge and disappear to irrigate and resurrect any dying cells and nerves deep inside me.
Or may be the feeble raindrops were just tricking me into forgetting their hopelessness and failure in delivering the kind of strokes that would leave me gasping in awe and pleasure. But their gentle manner actually worked.
My body quickly noticed and danced in tipsy swings from its warmth a moment past to the cold hugs, kisses and strokes from my beloved raindrops.
In the rain, the child in me took over. The rain drenching me triggered ticklish sensations from head to toe. I soaked it in gracefully and relished in the delirium spreading all over my inner cosmos.
These sensations got me laughing freely as I started strolling across and around the little field to interact with more diverse raindrops and experience a more pluralistic drenching and stroking.
I laughed at my foolishness of thinking that I could collect all the rain in the palms of my hands and create a lake to water the seed of revolution.
I was lost in the bliss of being rained on. I did not notice neighbors wondering if their fellow earthling had an issue of an undisclosed type.
My present joy hypnotized me. My childhood soul with all its memories of being rained on from school filled me. I am a child of the nourished rains of Kericho and the kinkier ones of Koru Farm in Kunyak.
Spending ten minutes under the spell of the kisses of a heavy downpour was the best way to end my day.
The wetness, the internal warmth of my body and heart and the cold caresses of nature outside. The spread of these sweet sensations all over my soul and body, the which I have no words for.
My teary laughter in the rain remembering my childhood, and the blending of the tears and the raindrops, streaming down my cheeks to find the edges of my lips and tempting my tongue to a tasting festival.
I walked back to the house feeling refreshed, cleansed and happier.
Rain therapy. That was my evening.