Wet wings

The first few drops of cool spring rain splash onto the dark pavement below and quickly cover the bustling city. I watch as the drops roll down the glass and leave behind a glistening, hypnotic trail.
Light from shop windows spill out to reflect off the wet pavement and bounce up into the twinkling night sky. Everything shimmers around the giant angel wings in the centre of the square. I love those wings, outstretched and ready to fly.
Rain falls harder now and forces people below to run for cover in doorways and seek refuge from the sudden downpour. I smile as I watch the weaving dance with a feeling of warmth washing over me. I am right where I'm meant to be.
A memory of getting soaked to the skin in Milan splashes into my mind and rolls back out again just as quickly.
There is that magnificent moment when your clothes get sodden and you feel the cool water begin to seep through onto warm skin and you realise that there is no point in running for cover. And so you stand in the moment and become part of the downpour. The surrender brings peace. Nothing else exists in that minute.
The rain begins to ease off and doorways are slowly becoming empty once again.
I should make my way outside now and down towards the tube...but not just yet. I want to watch the angel wings for a little while longer.