My family and I are tourists in another city. We spent the morning wandering. Down near the water. Through alleys and main streets. In and out of stores and shops. Drawn in by something in the window, the smell of fresh baked bread and one dappled Great Dane pup that charmed us all. We didn’t buy much. Coffee. Then lunch. That bread for our dinner. Books of course. Always books. One perfect chocolate each in the chocolate shop. Raspberry. Ginger. Butter Cream.
In the bookstore, I read Rain by Sam Usher. This is one gorgeous book. The pages seem slightly drowned. The images feel like they are full of puddles. Torrential rain that can’t be escaped has never looked quite so beautiful. The weather today called for rain and I was reminded that we had been spared. Our walk was pleasant. The weather mild. The sun made in and out appearances from behind the clouds. We had our second cup of coffee with sweets sitting outside on a back alley patio admiring planters and wondering where stairs led and what was behind each door. No rain today.
After lunch, we dropped bread and books back at the hotel and set out to walk for hours in the nearby park.
Within minutes it was drizzling. We come from rain. Drizzle is nothing. Most things we wear are meant to endure some water. This is the Pacific Northwest. Wet. Damp. Misty. Clean. We know rain. This was a meek attempt. We barely hesitated. Truth be told, we marched boldly over hills we didn’t know drawn by quacking ducks and a daffodil path all in bloom.
The drizzle picked up.
We raised hoods and quickened our step. There is always the shelter of trees.
A family was feeding the ducks. Which you aren’t supposed to do. But wow, those ducks. Mallard iridescent greens. Fifty ducks toddling across the grass is a sight to see.
A deluge replaced the drizzle. Huge drops. Soaked through in minutes, we ran to a structure where we could stand under a roof to escape. The wind picked up. There was no warm.
The next ten minutes was a back and forth between our fourteen-year-old son and us.
“We’ll just wait here until it lets up.”
“Oh my God. Let’s just go back now.”
“It won’t stay this steady.”
“Like we aren’t always in the rain.”
One duck waddled about in a nearby bush. Unbothered.
We got colder.
Eventually, the seeped in wet was too much and we stepped back into the downpour. Lessening now, because it does let up.
We know rain.
The cold and soaked feeling is familiar. As is the brighter green. The sweet smell of wet soil. The sound of rain splatter in the streets.
A warm room and dry clothes fix everything.
A view of a misty city.
Full of puddles.
The aftermath of rain that can’t be escaped.
I am participating in the Slice of Life challenge to write and publish a post every day in March.
Slice of Life is hosted by Two Writing Teachers. I thank them for the community they provide. Read more slices here.