14 September 2019 – Rich more in promise than delivery, though, as I write this, rain is pelting down.
Earlier, the sky is merely lowering, luminous grey, the air heavy with its cargo of rain. But I am now a Vancouverite, am I not? I put on my jacket, tuck a mini-umbrella into my backpack, and off I go.
A loop, I tell myself: down to the eastern end of False Creek, west up its north side to the Cambie bridge, over the bridge, back east to Creek-end once more, and home.
I’m not the only Vancouverite. Waving-cat Maneki-nako stops waving, wraps his paw around an umbrella instead, and turns into rain-cat.
Luminous sky means darker darks & punched-up colour, this rain-filled trench in a construction site suddenly a turquoise pond.
Site equipment rears dark against the sky …
as do hydro poles in a nearby alley, their attendant crows somehow even blacker than usual.
Down on False Creek, an inukshuk seems to huddle against the chill …
and tide height turns rock tips into dark islands in the glittering waters.
A woman stops beside me, also contemplating the rocks. We chat, her small dog with butterfly ears yips at a passing gull. “I named him Napoleon for good reason,” she sighs. “Small Frenchman with big attitude.”
Just before the south-side ramp up onto the Cambie bridge, I pause again. A kid & his skateboard take a breather beside the mural with its large “Stay in school” message. It’s Saturday. He’s legal.
Over the bridge, and, starting down the spiral staircase at the south end, I hear music.
I look over the edge.
Some passer-by has pushed back the protective tarp, and started playing the public piano that lives here on Spyglass Dock every summer. The music swells; the pavement murals glow in the mist.
A little farther east, I watch crows fly in to join their fellows in a favourite staging tree. Come evening, they’ll take wing for their nightly migration to the next municipality over, Burnaby. Night after night, they swirl past my balcony, dozens at a time.
Mist has turned to drizzle; drizzle is thickening to rain. One more line of hydro poles, as I cut south-east toward home. No crows here, just one bright saw-tooth line of pink warning flags.
And now… rain! I scamper.
(You’re right: this is not the post I semi-promised you last time around. This one seemed more here-and-now. That one comes next. Yes! I promise.)
Sylvie Greeniaus
/ 15 September 2019Hi Penny, I see you are happy in Vancouver. Toronto misses you and we miss you at the Y!
icelandpenny
/ 19 September 2019That is the loveliest thing to say! I am so touched. Well, I love Toronto dearly, always will, and each day I drink from my Y coffee mug (thank Liam again for me, if he’s still around), and regularly use my Y Volunteer carrier bag…
Lynette d'Arty-Cross
/ 15 September 2019I enjoyed your rainy walk. I miss BC. 🙂
icelandpenny
/ 19 September 2019Oh, I know about missing other times/places/people! I comfort myself that missing them is a tribute to them.
Lynette d'Arty-Cross
/ 19 September 2019Good point. 🙂
morselsandscraps
/ 16 September 2019Love the here and now of this, and i’m Sure we’ll get the promised one. I need all the rain I can get – home is so dry, although we’ve had a few drops today.
icelandpenny
/ 19 September 2019Are you heading into more rain or less, as you go on into summer?
morselsandscraps
/ 22 September 2019Hard to predict with everything tops turvy and the fire season stretching.