Rainstorm

We knew it was going to rain but we set out anyway, driving my little electric car down the mountain, relishing the way the mpge shot all the way to 250 as we swooped and coasted. We hadn't brought the dog because he'd been limping after our hike yesterday, so it was just the two of us. Maybe we wouldn't have gone out, but it was Michael’s birthday and our last day at the cabin, and it seemed like we shouldn't spend the day like we had the six before.

The GPS took us to the wrong end of the state park, so we made a big loop before finding the visitors center. And then just as we parked - the downpour. Gone was the sun, the blue sky. We sat there in the car, raindrops pelting the windows around us, and waited.

All the scenic overlooks on the hiking path looked out on a valley hidden by fog. We laughed and took pictures of white blur after white blur, joking about how we'd show everyone the magnificent views, the beautiful Hudson and Mohawk valleys. At one point the rain got heavier and we paused on the side of the trail, Michael holding the umbrella and me with my arms wrapped around his waist to stay out of the rain.

Maybe we should have turned around then, but we didn't. There was something about the day that made us not worry about it. There are some days that seem like living snapshots as you’re in them, as you know this is a moment you'll remember fondly in nostalgic tints - racing the rain, huddled under an umbrella, sitting atop a picnic table in a rainstorm in each other's arms, happy and young and free.