It is raining today. I'm listening to Death Cab for Cutie, which is one of my favorite things to do when the gray envelops the world. I will admit it. I'm a sucker for cheap indie music.
It hasn't rained here in a while, and I think that is overall a good thing for the land. Snow pack and reservoirs are running low and dry, and it is well needed for all. Yet there is something that strikes me as an initial dulling of the senses as it rains. The condensed air crowds around the city and hills, and is draped over all the region for miles. It's almost a trapped sort of feeling, not letting you move around and explore. Keeping you confined to your house, your place of work, or your mode of transport.
As if on queue, a fire is lit up behind me in the fireplace, warming the area, and helping to drive the sense of a closeted cold away, and bring life into the space. The Chinook did this same thing during their winters, making sure the fires were always stoked and warming their plankhouses. There is something about the warmth of it all that counteracts the splashing sheerness of the rain.
I do like the mystery of the rain and the clouds, and how they lay low across the city. It's amazing to watch a slow crawl of gray cover the very buildings you were once looking down upon just moments earlier. But I have yet to embrace it. In light of all this, who knew there could be so many feelings for rain?
Being in the Northwest has given me many different feelings for a simple form of liquid vital to life. I never was aware that it could take on such an attitude, personality, or complexity. Who knew that such a simple condensation could bring and take life from a place, and manipulate the emotions of a person so much?
