Rain Brain

Walking in the rain this morning, dressed like a bathtub rubber ducky in bright yellow, the beak of my hood bumping low branches, I felt virtuous for dragging out of the house so early. The freedom to walk without aid, sloshing through puddles in my plaid wellies, washed away any cobwebs in the brain. Ten minutes out and ten minutes back, just to dispel any whining that might creep in, dragging my good intentions to a halt before the socks are on.
On the return ten minutes, I passed several groups of children with mothers on their way to school. I smiled at them and remembered how it felt at their age to be slogging off through the rain to school. I was usually hungry as the oatmeal porridge my mother made was repulsively slimy and a breakfast of fresh air was more appealing. On my way home now instead of school, I knew I'd be having hot tea and something tasty, soon, and that my home would be warm and dry.
Why can't I do this more often, I wondered, as I always do when something so simple turns out to be easy and not the dreary drag I was anticipating. I added another layer of luster to my halo by calling a person I know who's recovering from surgery and has asked for support. The important thing to know about that is that I haven't had a happy history with this person so making the call was stretching myself. But after a walk, stretching is easier. My brain seems to function as if the oil is working, for a change. So the soft rain and the oiled up brain have me set on a different course for the rest of the day and I have to agree it.