I've been told that most people don't like walking through the rain and that others theoretically enjoy the process but don't walk in the rain because they dislike arriving at their destinations wet. However, unless I have something of a very pressing importance at the other end of my journey, I find that I try to catch every raindrop I can on the way.
Even underneath the scaffolding at the intersection of Main St. and Vassar St., many Cambridge residents navigate carefully to avoid the few drops of rain that might sneak through the wooden panels above them. In light of this, it shouldn't be surprising that you make great time by taking the path that maximizes the number of times you are hit by water droplets falling through the planks. Pseudo-random neuron firings (prnf to the zephyr world) worded this moment more poetically:
As I am drifting to catch raindrops who glide off the scaffolding,
I become as unnoticeable to the hustling city folk
as I have made the droplets to the setting concrete.
A couple of hours later that day, I began writing a minimalistic piece for the piano, which I finished it up last Friday. Here are a couple of phrases from the beginning:
About halfway through the piece's composition, I noted that it was eerily reminiscent of my moment deliberately walking in the rain. I was also contented to note that its relationship with a short, poetic phrase meant I didn't have to come up with a more traditional title for the little song.
You can view, or perhaps even play, the complete piano score.
(Fun fact: the title of this post is from Gilbert & Sullivan's The Gondoliers, specifically a line from "Dance a Cachuca." This was the first song I sang with my high school's concert choir.)