The Salt of the Storm

The smell of rain on hot pavement is a sharp, metallic ache that settles deep in the lungs. It is the scent of the earth waking up, gasping for a drink after a long, dry fever. I remember the feeling of a wool sweater turning heavy and damp against my shoulders, the way the fabric clings like a second, colder skin when the sky finally breaks. There is a specific, frantic rhythm to running through a downpour—the slap of wet soles against stone, the sudden chill that prickles the back of the neck, and the strange, electric thrill of being caught in something larger than yourself. We are taught to seek cover, to stay dry, to preserve the edges of our comfort. But there is a wild, shivering joy in standing where the water falls, huddled close enough to feel the heat radiating from another person’s side. When did we decide that staying dry was more important than feeling the pulse of the weather? Does the skin remember the rain long after the clothes have dried?

Eyad Al Shami has captured this exact feeling of shared warmth in his image titled The Show Must Go On. It reminds me that the best stories are often found when we choose to stay out in the elements rather than retreating to the shade. Does this image make you want to step out into the rain?