Rainbathing

Some mornings I arise from my recollections to see shimmering rays gleaming through the draperies. Others I do not. On a typical April day, I awoke to an invasion of tiny, liquid tap dancers thumping about on my roof. I removed my ivory sheets which entangled my almost barren body, and clothed myself in a satiny blanket of bliss. The innocent brown insects, my reptile’s food trapped inside plastic barriers, chirped, “Good Day, Sir!” And I was off to gather some make-shift breakfast.

         I faintly remembered that my dream consisted of a Victorian house in Alaska with Malamutes strewn here and there. I glided toward the kitchen on cool tiles, my body hollow. I placed a translucent teabag into bubbling water and stirred in a small amount of cinnamon. A cloud of fragrant, sweet-smelling spices encompassed me, clearing my brain of all worries. As I waited for the tea to steep, I picked at my worn, untidy fingernails. They needed miraculous labor to turn into anything close to decent. So distracted by the sweet perfume of earlier, I forgot that I had set a timer. The compact microwave caterwauled at me, taking away from my halcyon moment.  So I grabbed the ceramic mug firmly and scattered out the door with a rectangular packet of sugar.

         The scenic landscape seemed simply awe-inspiring. A ruby glow peaked through the velvet sky. Vertical streams of rainwater flooded down to the ground. I then sipped a bit of tea. Warmness permeated from the inside out. I gulped the last bit of tea I had left. The bottom was littered with ochre bits of tea leaves. I set the mug upon the plastic, saffron end table adjacent to my body.

         Something called me that day, be it the mumbling wind or the screeching of the thunder. Either way, a magnetic force told me to lie on the ground. So I followed my impulse. I scurried through the quaint hallway to my room. I twisted the brass doorknob, and pushed open the door. I scanned the room, my head like an oscillating fan, searching for three items: a towel, a bathing suit, and a pair of sunglasses. When I had clumsily gathered these objects, I started on the direction of the back door.

         Outside, I began to strip down to my boxers and then shove my legs into the flower-patterned swimsuit. Afterwards, I set the sunglasses lightly upon my face. I advanced to the center of my grassy quadrangle and placed the towel above it. I lied down on my back as the grass crunched underneath. The clouds crashed into one another, disseminating into a trillion tiny pieces which cascaded over my body quite pleasantly. The aroma of damp earth drifted into my nostrils. Tiny droplets of water trickled down my skin. The soothing song of rainwater flooded my ears. The air was tasteless and damp; it quenched my throat. Something overhead struck a sparkly tone like a xylophone. Seconds later, lightning painted the ashen canvas above me.

         My brain paused for the next few minutes: A task that can only be achieved if in a perfect state of serenity. Afterwards I thought I had reached nirvana. My muscles relaxed. My brain simple and pure. My chest rose with pristine air. Like a child, I had no worries. I stood up and paced across the soaked earth. My feet sunk each time. When I arrived at my room, I stopped for a moment in front of the poster-cluttered door. I thought this to myself: Oh, what a joy to take a rainbath!