tiger balm ankles
There’s something awfully nostalgic about walking in the rain, ankles bare. No matter how big the umbrella, the backs of the ankles always end up with tiny droplets hovering just above their socks.
Dampness mixes with the mosquito bites teasing the skin where your shoes rub your ankles, the bumps shifting uncomfortably against the fabric of your pants. Mosquitoes here have a particularly persistent saliva, as their bites always turn into the worst kind of welts that nothing but the thickest layers of tiger balm can alleviate the itch from. But no matter where I go, this particular discomfort of walking in a summer rain will remain the same.
When I returned to the apartment, I sat with my arms and legs stiff out in front of me, carefully placed so as not to get my newly applied tiger balm on the leather sofa. Sitting quietly for a few minutes, I looked out the window to the street below as I relished the cool and tingly feeling of the balm on my ankles.
Outside, trees welled up and swayed back down, as if caught up in a fever dance. The heat’s gotten to them, I thought.
Wet air clings and shifts as if lifted by huge waves crashing through the sky. Leaves separated from the trees excitedly spin around and glitter to the ground. And at the moment where all the pressure seemed too much to hold, as though the arms of the Earth could no longer contain the sky, water pelted down and in through the windows, spraying my feet where I sat. Webs of lightening crawled up into the clouds and belted down into the not so distant horizon. Pink shadows flickered on the gray canvas above as cool air glided onto my outstretched hands and tickled the hem of my pants.
Even so with the humidity, my favorite weather in Shanghai was when it rained. When I would go out onto the wetted streets, the brim of my umbrella would obscure the height and magnificence of the buildings above. Everything in sight was pulled down to the dampened leaves and the damp bark of the ___ trees. Shiny pavement glistened with the spattering of umbrellas’ myriad colors.
In the rain, everything became softer, with a more forgiving sheen. Even a pile of scrap wood or an overturned bucket suddenly seemed to take on a particular ambience felt only when carefully stepping around puddles, resting an umbrella over your shoulder.
Rain brings life, so they say. I think it brings a degree of beauty, too.
