It was the kind of rain that doesn’t need words to have an identity. It was a rain as intensely saturating a city rain can be without oppressing. A rain too intense can depress the energy level to a stay inside frequency.  But a rain that’s just right. A cleansing, refreshing downpour of newness and growth. Functionality waiting behind a curtain of street light infused constancy. As reassuring as a city rain can be,  it doesn’t leave any guesswork with regard to encompassing all. It soaks as it soothes. It drips as it drenches. It eases in, clouds move quickly and quietly, taking advantage of the varying shades of grey in order to camoflage their approach. It is a westcoast rain I’ve grown up to love, the first sounds it makes on a bright yellow sleeve. The hood around my ears crackling with the echo of raindrops. Boots testing the edge of puddles, then leaping and coming as close to the middle to have  the best splash.

It’s the kind of rain that doesn’t apologize for itself. It’s a truly beneficial rain, necessary without being self-important. It would suggest that you not walk too far with holes in your shoes, but a little bit of irresponsibility in the name of welcoming spring and all her aspects can be good for the soul. It’s not all tulips and sunshine, after all. Sometimes it’s little black rainclouds and water lilies and tadpoles who become frogs and ducks who can let anything slide off their backs.  Which is never a bad way to be.

There’s something beautiful about walking home in a rain like that.

Dry feet are important, but good puddles must be paid their due now and again…

And Happy Birthday Kayo, I had a lovely time at your party.