By Chumppell 4 Comments
Having had a week off work due to some office renovation shenanigans, I've had a bit more time to get familiar with the little flakes of ice occupying my breathing room. Winter has got into the habit of starting earlier and earlier in Canada, but I can't say I find any fault in it. Something about the winter storm, the spring rain or the summer wash gets me in an energetic mood. Where I could normally go for a 15 minute walk on a cloudless, sunny day or for maybe 5 minutes with a grim overcast, I find myself jogging a good 10 KM in the driven rain or a few hours wandering the peaceable desolation of a blizzard-thunderstorm.
This fascination with precipitation probably stems from my upbringing on the west coast in Cali-Lite (British Columbia to you Amerikanskis), where soccer was a year-round outside activity, a good fifty percent of it in the coastal rain. Why I developed this attachment where the rest of my family grew to loathe the falling rain, I have little clue. A small part of my indulgence might well be an unspoken rebellion, a defiance of the falling sky's order to take shelter. Another part still might be the invitation to a shower, a cleansing of the outer being to soothe the inner.
Most likely of my reasons for frolicking in the rain, however, is the need to get wet and remain wet in total peace. For me, it is not the absence of others in the rain so much as the presence of solely myself that brings me peace. There is something wonderfully introspective in those little drops, the icy razors, that consistent zephyr.
With that piece of pretension put to text, what about you lot? What does the weather stir up with you? What is it in the winds that makes you tick?