A Rainy Night in Dingle
We were awash on our weekend exploring the Dingle Peninsula. At the end of a long day bathed in Atlantic rain we repaired to our rented cottage. The rain abated later in the evening, a chance to hang out some sodden clothes. A last nightcap and to bed, too tired to talk.
Noise, like an aircraft landing on the roof, tore us out of sleep. It was the rain again on the tin roof amplified in the sparsely furnished cottage. "Jesus Christ, the clothes on the line", I said. We both ran into the kitchen, naked, as if possessed. There were two yellow sou-westers hanging on the back door which we threw over our shoulders and ran out bare-footed through the wet grass.
We unceremoniously pulled the wet clothes off the line, partially lit by the back door light. I looked over at this remarkable woman, yellow sou-wester open and the rain glistening against her body. I thought, "What other woman would get out of bed, never mind step out into a night like this?" I took a step towards her and kissed her full on the lips, our cold bodies warming on contact, and the rain still hammering down.
The sodden mess was dumped into the sink and we spent the rest of the night in a sea of love. We explored depths never visited or long forgotten and soothed stresses and aches we never knew we had. In the morning it was still raining and we didn't have a dry set of clothes between us to put on. We stayed in bed all that day.
Years later I still think of that tempestuous night. Any time we pass someone wearing yellow rain gear a smile creeps over my face and I look at my partner as she mirrors my expression. Oh, but the rain...The beautiful rain in Dingle!...
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