We are having a relentlessly grey and wet month so far. Day after day of constant gloomy rain is starting to take a heavy toll on my mood, getting my spirits down. And keeping me from my weekend walks.
I therefore post these sunny photos taken on sunny days earlier this year, for the benefit of anyone who, like me, may need the encouragement that these seasonal clouds will pass, and that better times are waiting around the corner.
A clear memory of a pleasant past can often generate the promise of a welcome future, and help us persevere through the clouds of a troubled present.
We are having a relentlessly grey and wet month so far. Day after day of constant gloomy rain is starting to take a heavy toll on my mood, getting my spirits down. And keeping me from my weekend walks.
I therefore post these sunny photos taken on sunny days earlier this year, for the benefit of anyone who, like me, may need the encouragement that these seasonal clouds will pass, and that better times are waiting around the corner.
A clear memory of a pleasant past can often generate the promise of a welcome future, and help us persevere through the clouds of a troubled present. 
2 comments:
Long-term happiness in Vancouver, at least for some of us, seems to require a get out and get soaked embrace of our cleansing, rejuvenating, life- giving rain, like a fool dancing drunkenly before a desert rat.
I can stare endlessly at the dynamic three-dimensionality of the clouds, the light refracting and colour shifting of endless fronts climbing up and down the mountains, always something different from the many hilly view points of the city's roads, always moist. I can trace the endless rivulets and follow them into raging cauldrons, only to be tamed by the the almighty salt chuck. What I breezily ford one day I wade through the next feeling the pulsing energy turn to soggy chills and a warm recognition that there is a living soaking world always waiting outside the hermetic door.
The spongy forest floor, the ubiquitous green, mold and moss, fern and fir... always there quickly to replace man's home and garden the moment he falters or gets lost in vertiginous Gore-tex reveries...
I could write endless poems about it if pen and paper didn't get quickly pulped or laptop fried. To live in clouds is to live our mysterious existence. The horizon could be bigger but it is never fixed. Bless the mist.
Oh, and the sounds, the soundSSssSSss!
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