It's often an interesting experience to travel on public transport. It's a particularly interesting experience, when you combine public transport, peak hour traffic, and rain.
It turns into a bizarre yet beautiful event.
As you step off the tram in the misty, foggy impending darkness of the evening, you are met by a barrage of damp, cold, impatient commuters, willing you to quickly get off the tram and out into the cold, just so they can be comforted by the stale warmth of the carriages.
Stepping onto the wet concrete, you are suddenly in the midst of a frenzy: travellers climbing on and off the tram, both doing their best to keep their exposure to the increasing rain at a minimum. You hurry towards the pedestrian crossing, moving around the stand still columns of people; like hamsters moving around an obstacle course.
As you enter the throng of people moving steadily across the road like a herd of elephants, you realise you must keep up the pace, for fear of being trampled. You side-step those who seem less destination-oriented, as you pass by slow walkers, and fast walkers pass you, narrowly cutting your path and crossing you in all sorts of directions. The wind picks up ever so slightly, pushing the rain down at a slant; you can feel it now, the droplets cold and big on your hair. You brush your hair out of your face, only to receive further mementos from the sky.
Stepping out onto the sidewalk, having almost reached the secluded shelter, you must foucs in order to get to where you want. Here people are not only rushing towards you to cross the road from which you came, but the herd behind pick up their ascent, snapping at your heels, willing you to move faster.
A bit of a skip, jump, and a narrowly missed collision with a wet umbrella, and now you are making your way up the escalators. Inconsiderate souls stand lamely in the middle of nowhere; as you walk up the right side of the moving steps, you deliberately click your heels louder as you approach them, silently forcing them to move to the left and allow you to pass. After idly taking a few steps forward, the numb-ers eventually move aside.
You rush past and begin your walk/run to your train platform. All commuters have chosen the left sheltered side to walk by, however the openness of the wind and rain coming at you from the right does not leave you missing out; a gust of wind brings sprinklings of rain pushing heavily in your direction. You shiver and wrap your coat around you more tightly, and secure that scarf ever so more. Another sudden gust of wind brings further showers of rain towards you, however you are fortunate that others are blocking your exposure to the elements, and they take the brunt of the winter force.
You swipe your ticket through the machine, and almost crash with another traveller on their way in the opposite direction, as you both run to your respective platforms. Reaching the top of the stairs, you look down towards the platform, filled with anxious and waiting commuters. And you see your train.
Departing.
Beautiful.
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Friday, July 16, 2010
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Rain
You know you're in the midst of a drought, when it rains all weekend, and you can't believe it.
When you're leaving home Saturday afternoon, and the rain simply descends. But it doesn't go away like it normally does, no. It just continues, harder and faster, pelting at the car you're in from all directions, until you begin to realise that it isn't going away just yet.
That's when you know you're in a drought.
When you look for parking closer to your destination, just so you can get LESS rained on, rather than totally drenched. When you open up the umbrella when you're still in the car, squirming your way out so to avoid any speck of rain getting on you, even though you know that once you start walking, the rain will give you no mercy. It will attack you from every which direction, and you will be amazed. You will be surprised.
That's when you know you're in the midst of a drought.
When you're walking to the soccer stadium, sharing an umbrella but wishing you each had your own, as your entire right side which is facing the rain starts to soak, and you start to wish you had worn your boots, rather than your open-toed flats. And you ask yourself why it is that last time you wore those flats you were caught in a similar downpour. You begin to question your rain-inspiring shoes. You vow next time to wear those shoes, when the rain is needed.
That's when you know you're in the middle of a drought.
Your shoes get damp, and then are suddenly soaked, through and through, feet and all, as you accidentally step into a puddle when you forgetfully fail to watch your step for a split second. You swear, yell at your umbrella partner, and regretfully begin to accept the rain sloshing through your shoes.
You shake your feet in the air as you walk, trying to get rid of the water, as you try to avoid more puddles, somehow, almost, successfully. You look around and see others around you, running without umbrellas, trying to avoid the inevitable raining crashing down on them, and for a moment you feel good, knowing you are somewhat dry.
Until you step again and the water sloshes around heavily in your flats.
And you ask yourself when was the last time you remember this happening. You can't remember. Other than the time from last week when you wore the same rain-producing flats. There's nothing.
That's when you know you're in the midst of a drought.
When you're on your way back from the soccer, the rain has ceased, but surprisingly, returns with full force once you're in the car, driving back home. This is surprising to you because you dont see rain often. It has become a rare event. You're in a drought.
The following day it rains, on and off. It isn't too severe, but still you're more amazed at the constant determination of the rain than anything else. Not only does it rain, but it comes back. Sudden and swift isn't in its vocabularly, it's a distant cousin of this rain.
That night, as your bed looms at you, yawns approach and everything becomes still, you hear it. The sudden rattling, thunderous pitter-patter that begins on your roof, and in moments envelopes the entire house, all that is around you.
The rain. It has returned. And provided a nice backdrop for sleeping, a kind of musical lullaby, to which you can close your eyes, tune out, and be secure in knowing you are in a good place. You are safe, warm, at home. Tired.
But still you are amazed. Amazed and at awe by this sensation, by this natural phenomenon of water falling from the sky. It falls, sometimes slowly, sometimes fast, in all sorts of directions. It falls and stops, then returns, and sometimes it just doesn't stop. It just varies the speed and direction and force with which it falls.
But all this is so new. Familiar but new, because rain is not a naturally-occuring phenomenon, not where we are anymore. It never comes too often, or stays too long.
That's why we are surprised. We can not believe our luck. The phrase you constantly hear everywhere is "But we need the rain." Perhaps everyone here has said it at least once. That's because we all feel its absence. It comes, dissolves the dryness, returns moisture to the plants, trees, land, animals and the people that so rely on it for survival. It removes the stresses and angers, from our lives. All washes away with rain.
It rejuvenates. It refreshes. But it has been surprising.
We are surprised by its sudden return. Because we are in a drought.
Today is the first day of Summer.
When you're leaving home Saturday afternoon, and the rain simply descends. But it doesn't go away like it normally does, no. It just continues, harder and faster, pelting at the car you're in from all directions, until you begin to realise that it isn't going away just yet.
That's when you know you're in a drought.
When you look for parking closer to your destination, just so you can get LESS rained on, rather than totally drenched. When you open up the umbrella when you're still in the car, squirming your way out so to avoid any speck of rain getting on you, even though you know that once you start walking, the rain will give you no mercy. It will attack you from every which direction, and you will be amazed. You will be surprised.
That's when you know you're in the midst of a drought.
When you're walking to the soccer stadium, sharing an umbrella but wishing you each had your own, as your entire right side which is facing the rain starts to soak, and you start to wish you had worn your boots, rather than your open-toed flats. And you ask yourself why it is that last time you wore those flats you were caught in a similar downpour. You begin to question your rain-inspiring shoes. You vow next time to wear those shoes, when the rain is needed.
That's when you know you're in the middle of a drought.
Your shoes get damp, and then are suddenly soaked, through and through, feet and all, as you accidentally step into a puddle when you forgetfully fail to watch your step for a split second. You swear, yell at your umbrella partner, and regretfully begin to accept the rain sloshing through your shoes.
You shake your feet in the air as you walk, trying to get rid of the water, as you try to avoid more puddles, somehow, almost, successfully. You look around and see others around you, running without umbrellas, trying to avoid the inevitable raining crashing down on them, and for a moment you feel good, knowing you are somewhat dry.
Until you step again and the water sloshes around heavily in your flats.
And you ask yourself when was the last time you remember this happening. You can't remember. Other than the time from last week when you wore the same rain-producing flats. There's nothing.
That's when you know you're in the midst of a drought.
When you're on your way back from the soccer, the rain has ceased, but surprisingly, returns with full force once you're in the car, driving back home. This is surprising to you because you dont see rain often. It has become a rare event. You're in a drought.
The following day it rains, on and off. It isn't too severe, but still you're more amazed at the constant determination of the rain than anything else. Not only does it rain, but it comes back. Sudden and swift isn't in its vocabularly, it's a distant cousin of this rain.
That night, as your bed looms at you, yawns approach and everything becomes still, you hear it. The sudden rattling, thunderous pitter-patter that begins on your roof, and in moments envelopes the entire house, all that is around you.
The rain. It has returned. And provided a nice backdrop for sleeping, a kind of musical lullaby, to which you can close your eyes, tune out, and be secure in knowing you are in a good place. You are safe, warm, at home. Tired.
But still you are amazed. Amazed and at awe by this sensation, by this natural phenomenon of water falling from the sky. It falls, sometimes slowly, sometimes fast, in all sorts of directions. It falls and stops, then returns, and sometimes it just doesn't stop. It just varies the speed and direction and force with which it falls.
But all this is so new. Familiar but new, because rain is not a naturally-occuring phenomenon, not where we are anymore. It never comes too often, or stays too long.
That's why we are surprised. We can not believe our luck. The phrase you constantly hear everywhere is "But we need the rain." Perhaps everyone here has said it at least once. That's because we all feel its absence. It comes, dissolves the dryness, returns moisture to the plants, trees, land, animals and the people that so rely on it for survival. It removes the stresses and angers, from our lives. All washes away with rain.
It rejuvenates. It refreshes. But it has been surprising.
We are surprised by its sudden return. Because we are in a drought.
Today is the first day of Summer.
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