On being alive

Today, Katie and I spent the morning buzzing around camp on the ATV, unlocking doors to the cabins, opening up waterfront and checking campsites. Then, Mom assigned us the task of visiting each latrine and making sure that they had lime buckets ("if you tinkle, use a sprinkle. if you poop, use a scoop") and cleaning check-lists. The sun was shining and the air was muggy and heavy with a lingering morning haze. I let Kate drive for a bit while I scribbled notes on the clipboard in an inky red pen. We were down at the amphitheater when all of a sudden, out of absolutely nowhere, the skies opened up and literally dumped buckets upon us. It was my turn to drive and Katie was laughing in the back as I gunned the throttle and shot up the hill towards the office; the rain drops hitting my face like a million tiny cold stings that imprinted into my skin. I could feel the water run down my knees and seep into my socks. I could feel it rolling across my checks and into the crevices of my ears as we raced through the wind. My hair was plastered in flat clumps to my forehead and my hands were turning numb in as I gripped the handles in an azure haze of oncoming water. I was laughing uncontrollably as I felt my mascara drip down in bold black lines and as Katie urged me onward in the most perfect summer rainstorm, I felt more alive then I have in months. And it was so beautiful.