Embracing dirty water

On Friday I got caught in a thunderstorm, the kind that makes the streets into rivers. It means there is no way to cross the street without sloshing through these new currents carrying leaves and general detritus off into the bay. All you can do is shrug and think Well, I can always wash the Brooklyn dirt off at home, and forge on through. Which practically turned into wading that day.

And it made me elated. I'd been in the post office, ours being one of the most poorly reviewed and always tenanted by a police officer and crazies—and I decided that rather than waiting inside to see if the downpour would pass I'd much prefer risking a wetting. It turned into a soaking but it didn't matter. I don't think I've ever walked four long blocks grinning the entire way. I began intentionally wading through every rushing current I crossed. Do you know how good it feels to have rainwater sweeping through the fabric of your shoes? Up your shins? It's different from wading in a creek or having the thin end of ocean waves lap at you. There's a wildness and freshness to it, a wildness in yourself as you give in to it.

When I was younger, even up through college, I used to hear a downpour beginning and rush outside wearing my flip-flops. Of course those days I lived in Rhode Island and was splashing around just outside my house. But who cares if I'm in Brooklyn now? Who cares if the water's filthy? My bathtub is right there, my kid will be doing it soon, and I will join in each time.

Except when I have to go somewhere in which case I'll don my fabulous wellies because I do like having an excuse to wear them.

These photos are through my pink umbrella.