The ground was slick from the nearly invisible drops. They were so light and tiny that he could barely feel them. It was more like walking through a mist than normal rain but still was falling enough to accumulate on the concrete at his feet. It had been a wet winter and he had been thoroughly enjoying it. Rain was a special thing, a rare thing in his opinion, meant to be celebrated and enjoyed. Perhaps that was a result of growing up in the desert where rain was scarce or perhaps that was just part of who he was, who he would have been regardless of where and how he was raised.
He used to go walking in the rain, let it pour over him, drench him, and exalt in the experience. Then, frozen and dripping, peel off his clothes and take a warm shower. Afterwards, he would curl up in a chair near a window and spend hours watching the rain, watching it catch the light, watching it slash sideways in the wind, watching pool. He was enchanted by it. In truth, he still was but no longer had the leisurely hours to spend in such a manner.
The sound of his steps echoed in the narrow corridor. He walked under an awning, sheltered from the drizzle. He longed to step out into the open and once again revel in the feeling of the water soaking into him but his responsibilities came first. He had to finish his day at work. Had to get home and spend time with his family and get his chores done. Then, if it was still raining and all went smoothly, he might be able to carve out a few minutes to sit by the window and listen and watch. In the meantime, his short walk around the building would have to suffice. He was close enough he could reach out and touch the storm, even though he kept himself from it.