Counting my steps, I walked, “one, two, three, four, five” down the street. The air was thick with warmth and silver beads of liquid moistened my hair.
I heard a bird sing a little song and imagined it proudly tweeting from its perch in a tall, Pennsylvania oak. Raindrops pitter-pattered on a neighbor’s garden plastic as I walked by. I could hear.
A stormy wind pulled tufts of my golden-brown hair in little swirls. Tucking the stray strands behind my ear was useless. The wind had a mind of its own. My hair blew independently about, tossed by gusts of warm, earthly breath. I imagined my hair flapping in the breeze like an American flag. The mental picture made me smile. I could feel and see.
“Six, seven, eight, nine, ten,” I counted some more steps. My feet splashed in the clear water pooling at the edge of the road.
The rain seemed to pick up, swirling and dancing. A cold raindrop landed on my lips. It was tasteless, but I imagined it a refreshing drop of water. I could taste.
I ducked under the shelter of my garage, just as a gust of wind sent brown leaves scuttling across my driveway. In seconds, I slipped off my shoes and stepped into my warm house. I breathed deeply and smelled the fresh earthliness of the outdoors clinging to my coat. I could smell.