It Rained All Night
By Nell Iris
My first real memory of Mikko Salminen is him standing in the rain. Head tilted back, face turned skyward, the corners of his mouth curled up, as though he was drinking in the drops of the gentle spring rain. As though he was a tiny bud, collecting the nourishment he needed to grow into a rich green leaf. He held out his arms, as though he was welcoming the precipitation, inviting it into his space, drinking it down into his roots.
Nothing like the other participants of the yoga retreat who hurried and scurried across the courtyard to avoid getting wet.
There was something so serene about him in that moment. An expression I’d never seen on anyone before, and it slowed my steps. He didn’t even change his stance when the strap holding his yoga mat started
