I remember getting out a book from the library when I was about ten. It was called, What do butterflies do when it rains? I thought that it was a good question. I remember the story being very poetic, talking about what all the other animals under the sun do when it rains, “Monkeys do this, cats do this” but then asking “But what do butterflies do when it rains?” I don’t remember ever getting an answer by the end of the book and being very, very disappointed.
Here I am with Foro in a place I was many times before when I was younger. It is raining, and not just raining, but torrential raining. (But what do cows do when it rains?)
I am confronted with who I wanted to be, back then, and who I’ve become. I first came here before my second time at university (when I was in my thirties and it mattered so much more than the first time around.) It was before I’d learned French. It was before I found my profession. I was so hopeful then, and so determined. It was when I was still so in love with my then husband. (But what do cows do when it rains?)
I feel something like vertigo, remembering where we used to walk together, our old habits in this place, but it’s also what it was like to have my life more in front of me, and now my life is more behind me. (But what do cows do when it rains?)
I’m proud of who I’ve become. I’m happy with my partner. I’m happy with my profession. I’m happy under the rain. (But what do cows do when it rains?)
I will not end this post like the book did. What do cows do when it rains? I can only speak for Foro. He comforts me when it rains, and when I’m walking around feeling lightheaded because I’m confronted with my past, Foro stays dry, and lets me hug him when the thunder is too loud, and the lightening too close.
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