DOWN THE LANE

Rain dripped, dripped down the window. It was only noon and yet city lights blazed in the midst of the cloudy gloom. On a day like today most all of us were inside by our cozy fires, with lamps on, and steaming mugs of tea. Perhaps peppermint to make us feel as though it were a holiday. Maybe earl grey to wake us up from the steady rhythm of the drip, drip, drip. It was a symphony, but the kind that easily lulled one to sleep rather than awaken. I tapped my pen to the beat of the raindrops- tap, tap, tap. I’d rather be anywhere but here, I was tired of the rain. And in my boredom I began to wonder (and this I think is where the adventure began). I wondered, as sunny days do- bringing us all outside, laughing, adventuring, and celebrating the day. Where would I find the rainy day goers? Those who step outside with the first drop, those who laugh and smile at the clouds, thinking AT LAST. At last the day is here! We can finally- finally, what? I wanted to go where they go, to whatever festivities they may have. Staring out the window, I took a sip of my earl grey tea, bitter and potent I suddenly felt wide awake. I felt curious, on a day like today where does one go?

I looked down the city street and began drawing a shady lane. One with branches waving, leaves tossed in the wind, and I wondered (only mildly curious) who would be there? On a lane like this, on a day like today? The scratching of the pen interrupted the rhythm of the rain, my steaming mug of tea losing it’s heat, a blank page giving way to an inked picture. Or perhaps it was more like a window looking through to another place- the rainy day place. The ink drops fell steadier and steadier from my pen as I sketched the lane till the ink began spilling beyond the page, over the edges. Or had I stepped in? It’s hard to remember it all now. One moment I felt my pen scratching the paper, the next I was waving it in mid air with no paper beneath as though scratching at the sky. I felt a cool breeze as though I was not sitting next to a warm fire and there was no mug of tea in sight. I sniffed, and instead of the aroma of a vanilla candle I only got the sweet smell of fresh ink mixed with- rain? And then I felt the drip, drip, drip of  the rain falling down only this time it wasn’t tapping against the window it was drip, drip, drip, dripping on me! I couldn’t believe it, where was I? Looking around, I saw there was only one place I could possibly go to escape the rain- farther down the wooded lane. To where the trees reached across as though hugging, greeting one another. I ran as fast as I could to that place, my feet trudging through muddy puddles, leaves swirling through. When I reached the place beneath the leaves I paused to take in my surroundings. Where had my curiosity taken me this time? I admit, I was surprised but well…. Perhaps I had hoped…. hoped that the pen would do it again… I mean, okay. This may have happened before, late one night. I had only been wondering where the stars go during the day, you know when we are all wide awake? And so when morning came, I just took out the pen from my drawer. I don’t know how long it had been there, who it had belonged to, or how it had heard my dreams, but when I inked a night sky it took me there. And now, it had taken me here, only I didn’t know where ‘here’ was yet. I had only wished to go where the rainy day goes. So now I wondered, where to? 

Taking a step forward I heard the rustling crunch of paper, looking down I saw a soaked but neatly folded newspaper with a bold headline: ‘COME ONE, COME ALL, ONLY WHEN THE RAIN FALLS’. The directions on how to get there were clear: follow the lane, take a left at the birch tree, knock on the mailbox, and whistle once you reach the pines. I didn’t have a clue where this would lead me, but if dancing with the stars had taught me anything it was this: follow the ink. Of course I could have spent this day nice and cozy at home, but then I would have never found the answer to my question, would I? What adventures are saved only for rainy days? 

And so, I did what the inked newspaper told me… I followed the lane, took a left at the birch tree, knocked on the mailbox, and whistled as soon as I reached the pines. Quickly a hatch in the ground opened in front of me as a mole peeked out. “I’m sorry,” he called, “We’ve only got room for one more.” And well, you remember this part, the part where you had to stay behind and I continued on the adventure. But you remember, I promised to come back and tell you EVERYTHING! Well, here I am, here you are. Have you got your tea ready? I’ll tell you all about what happened next, down the inkling lane…