a million shades of grey

Today I took the time to do one of my favourite things: walking on the seawall in the pouring rain. It's delightful. Really! Gone are the imposters who pretend to love the seawall, those fair weather flocks full of false affection. On rainy days, the seawall belongs to the hardcore few. Oh sure, there may still be a few delicate types out there with umbrellas, locals who decided to stick to their walking plans in spite of the inclement weather and tourists with newly purchased umbrellas "making the best of it", but they're a bit fringe. Nods of recognition and smiles of understanding pass between those of us who know that on a rainy day the seawall belongs to us. (It's a bit like the wave & smile that drivers of VW camper vans exchange when driving in the mountains-- it's a brotherhood.) There's nothing quite like the feel of rain running down your face, streaming through your hair, soaking your socks. Or maybe the pleasure is in letting that all happen willingly, not even trying to resist the natural effects of blessed wetness. You've got to walk with verve-- you might cool down too much if you don't keep up a good pace-- but there's still time to savour the smell of wet cedar and the sea, and to linger a bit with the bobbing wood ducks, with whom I feel a certain kinship on days like this. English Bay shimmers with a million shades of grey and everything feels so still. It's quiet and lovely and and it feels perfectly right and good to be walking, thinking, and soaking in watery abundance.

I should add that it's not lost on me that the pleasure I take from walking in the rain is predicated on the fact that when I'm fully drenched, I get to go to my warm, dry home, peel off my wet layers, take a warm shower and carry on with clean, dry clothes. Again... such abundance.