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whether weather wander I
I was going to do pictures of my day today, but none of them turned out. So in lieu of photographic evidence you'll have to take this shot at a creative nonfiction essay. Mind, I don't generally write creative nonfiction anything, so take that into account.
It's a short walk between my apartment and the bus stop - only four blocks - and it's raining, of course, because it's Portland and springtime and rain is a part of being here. Apparently I was born a typical Pacific Northwesterner without knowing it - I think nothing of venturing out in sandals and jeans, no umbrella. The sweater isn't even waterproof.
It's pouring - dogs and cats and ocelots (oh my!) falling from the sky and swmming past me. Some of the puddles are up over my ankles. As I'm walking I'm listening to 'Alone in Kyoto' and realizing that this song is the perfect song for this moment; the background blends in with the cars as they travel past in wet swathes, and there's something about the tempo that invites walking.
My glasses are blurry with water droplets; I have no tissues. I keep walking.
And then - this is the interesting part, even for this temperate rainforest and its fantastically unpredictable weather - I see my shadow ahead of me on the walk. But it's still raining. And no half-hearted sunshower, either, this is the real deal; huge, hard, stinging drops of rain that bounce up off the pavement like silver bullets that long for the skin of a werewolf.
This continues for another block and a half in an impossibly Janusian manner - the sun behind me, the rain pouring down my face, and Air on the stereo. It doesn't let up until I'm actually standing at the bus stop - it leaves reluctantly, the grey clouds passing over the train yards beyond.
I shake my head like a dog - a very handy way to dry off, incidentally - and wait for the bus.
Even more remarkable: there are no rainbows, all afternoon; I watched out the window for them while I was travelling. Not one.
It's a short walk between my apartment and the bus stop - only four blocks - and it's raining, of course, because it's Portland and springtime and rain is a part of being here. Apparently I was born a typical Pacific Northwesterner without knowing it - I think nothing of venturing out in sandals and jeans, no umbrella. The sweater isn't even waterproof.
It's pouring - dogs and cats and ocelots (oh my!) falling from the sky and swmming past me. Some of the puddles are up over my ankles. As I'm walking I'm listening to 'Alone in Kyoto' and realizing that this song is the perfect song for this moment; the background blends in with the cars as they travel past in wet swathes, and there's something about the tempo that invites walking.
My glasses are blurry with water droplets; I have no tissues. I keep walking.
And then - this is the interesting part, even for this temperate rainforest and its fantastically unpredictable weather - I see my shadow ahead of me on the walk. But it's still raining. And no half-hearted sunshower, either, this is the real deal; huge, hard, stinging drops of rain that bounce up off the pavement like silver bullets that long for the skin of a werewolf.
This continues for another block and a half in an impossibly Janusian manner - the sun behind me, the rain pouring down my face, and Air on the stereo. It doesn't let up until I'm actually standing at the bus stop - it leaves reluctantly, the grey clouds passing over the train yards beyond.
I shake my head like a dog - a very handy way to dry off, incidentally - and wait for the bus.
Even more remarkable: there are no rainbows, all afternoon; I watched out the window for them while I was travelling. Not one.