Rain Falls in Toronto
A heavy rain falls in Toronto. The dark, pregnant clouds gathered overhead just as I prepared to go outside for the first time today. It's a late afternoon downpour, and the first drops come with my first steps out the door. Drops become torrents. It's a wonderful sight.
Most people are grimacing, caught by surprise during their downtown afternoon errands. It's one of those ungodly rains. Not a drizzle and not a steady-but-measured flow. I should say, rather, that it's a godly rain, because the forcefulness and the suddenness bring back any humility that may have been forgotten. Man's arrogance is swiftly brought into check as nature reminds him that ultimately the planet is hers.
Stranded pedestrians take cover under overhangs, awnings and the shadows of edifices. Not everyone has greeted the downpour with displeasure. A rotund young woman leaps from a doorway and twirls about in the shower with an enviable pleasure and freedom of spirit. Her pigtails fly in circles, catching each drop.
I share her joy, if not in action, at least in spirit. I love this rain. There is nothing like a good drama, and nature's dramas are performances I can view over and over again. And it's more than the charged energy that excites me. It's the transformation of the city. The dark clouds act as a filter, and the now dreary buildings that I've seen everyday for almost three months assume a magical aura. The red brick deepens, and even the gray concrete monster next door emits a previously unseen warmth that must have been hidden deep within its carcass. Water absorbs into the the monotone in uneven patterns, introducing texture and shades absent on sunny days.
My errand is a quick one, and I rush home--not to escape the storm but to relish it. The windows have been closed all day, and I quickly open them so that I can continue to hear the ferocity of the storm. The steady downpour soothes rhythmically. Flashes of light intrude, followed by the roar of thunder. What a splendid sound!
This unexpected gift sets the right mood for my afternoon. My day has passed with the reading of Orwell's 1984, a somber book if ever there was one. But do not think that this downpour instills only sobriety. It gives rise to one of those delightful melancholy feelings. It is bittersweet, and I prefer to think of the sweetness--the fresh smell of the streets after the rain, the dirt washed away, the ferocious energy of nature at work. And in the distance a siren rings that reminds us of those who did not heed the call to humility.
That is sad, indeed, but not so sad as to take away the joy I feel as the rain continues to fall in Toronto.
[For my mother, who would enjoy this rain even more than I.]
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