I was 17 years old. Ilka and I had gone for a walk and got caught in the rain. We were too far from home to even think about making it back dry, so we shrugged and said, “Let’s get wet!” We jumped and splashed in puddles. We opened our mouths to the sky and tasted the rain on our tongues. We danced. We played in the rain like children. And at 17, I guess we still were, though I would have argued with you about that at the time. The photograph my mom took of us when we got home, soaked and smiling, is one of my favorites.
I thought about this when the girls and I were eating french toast this morning and Lucy said, “We can’t go outside. It’s raining.”
So I said, “Why not?”
Maybe one day, when my girls think about their childhood, the summer, their sisters – one of these photographs will be their favorite.