Puddle jumping

We had a lovely light rain overnight, and it was still coming tenaciously down early this morning. This is the kind of weather I most love to run in. In the cemetery, the big puddle we call Lake H covered the path and I splashed merrily through.

Every time I do this I think of a day when H was still a littlish girl and we’d been out getting damp together. The driveway of our house in those days had, off to its side, a depression that filled temptingly after every rain.

As we walked past it on this day, I jumped into it with both feet, throwing up a sheet of water that soaked her already damp legs and shoes. She, naturally, leapt in to repay me in kind, and we spend a loud and happy minute laughing and stamping and dancing and making sure the other was thoroughly wet through. The memory has been good for a smile and a chuckle ever since—a joy I can summon just by getting my feet wet.

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