Soaked

My plan for a three-hour hike this morning got cut in half by an act of nature that I find utterly delicious:  the full-on, immediately soaking-to-the-skin summer storm. While feeling sympathetic for all the camping Nova Scotians of whom I know this weekend, cityside, this outburst is everything I love about summer in the Northeast:  completely encompassing, audible, and being the same temperature as the air, not the least chilling.  Within a block, my jeans were soaked entirely and the puddles in my shoes left me feeling like I was walking on a water bed.  There was no need to skirt puddles–and that would have been nigh on impossible at some intersections.

It’s a windless rain, falling not only hard and thick but also straight down, so if one holds one’s head in coordination, it’s easy enough to see the way ahead, even wearing spattered glasses.  Fortunately, my route was along the south end of Tower Road, so street traffic was minimal and slow. Nova Scotian drivers, ever polite, don’t try to beat out pedestrians approaching an intersection in the rain.

It’s a release, too, from a week of fog and occasional spatters of half hearted drizzle.  Everything’s already muddy and green and shiny, so this simply adds the lustre that a jeweler’s touch might add to a diamond. The air already feels better, less like living in a cloud chambre, more like a summer day when picnics will have be eaten under the cover of pavilions and clothes will become second skins quickly and need to be changed every time one returns from abroad.

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