Every morning I stumble out of the bed to my window to see what the new day holds. This morning, I was met by a dark morning, and pouring rain. At some point through the night, sideways rain had hit my window, usually sheltered by the eaves. Even through the rain splattered window, I could see the water running down the street, until another car came splashing through. Water visibly flowing down the street is the real sign of just how hard it is raining. I love the rain, so I sit down in my chair by the window and take a moment to watch the world go by. For me the day is only just beginning, but outside, people are on their way to important places, and in a big hurry to get there.
At the bus stop commuters huddle under their umbrellas, hoping for the bus to be on time. I watch their shoes and trousers get wet beyond the umbrella's shelter. The woman wearing a bright purple rain coat and rain boots seems not to mind the rain so much. She stands tall, and I wonder if she's smiling. Something about her body language, so different from those beside her, makes me think that she likes the rain.
A brave and determined cyclist rides by in a flash, well attired for his or her wet ride, covered from head to toe in goretex. Across the street, a parent drops a child off at school, for early band practice perhaps? Fumbling with a big, awkward instrument case and a backpack, the girls hurries up the path toward the school. Her head and shoulders already wet as she struggles with the heavy door, and then she's gone.
The bus finally pulls up. Everyone rushes forward towards the doors and then jumps back as the water from the curb splashes up. The windows on the bus are mostly obscured by the condensation inside the bus, but I can still see how full the bus is. The door folds open and the passengers all squeeze on; the last one only just barely getting past the yellow line as the door swings shut, and the bus pulls away.
You wait and wait for the bus on a rainy day, just hoping to get out of the rain. When it finally pulls up with a splash, the bus is always full in wet weather. You hope the people in the back take a step back to make room for you to get on. At last you're on the bus, squished between wet people, wet coats, wet umbrellas and wet bags. Everything is wet - the seats, posts to hold on to, the floor - it's all wet. Why is there always shredded wet Kleenex on the floor of the bus on a rainy day? Within minutes you're thinking you'd have been better off waiting in the rain a little longer for the next bus. The windows are all fogged up, and everyone is literally steaming as the bus is already way too hot. The moisture rising from people's wet clothes would be funny, if you weren't so uncomfortable. You're wet and way too hot in your coat with the heat on in the bus. The crowded bus and not being able to see anything out of the windows makes you feel strangely anxious. Should you just get off at the next stop and wait for another bus? The bus is so crowded, how will you make your way to the door. Maybe you should just stay on, it's raining even harder now.
I remember rainy day commutes all too well. I can't say I miss them - at all. I understand why that cyclist opted to ride to work instead of take the bus.
Today I am grateful to sit in my chair by the window, pull my quilt around me and take a few more minutes to watch the rain.
At the bus stop commuters huddle under their umbrellas, hoping for the bus to be on time. I watch their shoes and trousers get wet beyond the umbrella's shelter. The woman wearing a bright purple rain coat and rain boots seems not to mind the rain so much. She stands tall, and I wonder if she's smiling. Something about her body language, so different from those beside her, makes me think that she likes the rain.
A brave and determined cyclist rides by in a flash, well attired for his or her wet ride, covered from head to toe in goretex. Across the street, a parent drops a child off at school, for early band practice perhaps? Fumbling with a big, awkward instrument case and a backpack, the girls hurries up the path toward the school. Her head and shoulders already wet as she struggles with the heavy door, and then she's gone.
The bus finally pulls up. Everyone rushes forward towards the doors and then jumps back as the water from the curb splashes up. The windows on the bus are mostly obscured by the condensation inside the bus, but I can still see how full the bus is. The door folds open and the passengers all squeeze on; the last one only just barely getting past the yellow line as the door swings shut, and the bus pulls away.
You wait and wait for the bus on a rainy day, just hoping to get out of the rain. When it finally pulls up with a splash, the bus is always full in wet weather. You hope the people in the back take a step back to make room for you to get on. At last you're on the bus, squished between wet people, wet coats, wet umbrellas and wet bags. Everything is wet - the seats, posts to hold on to, the floor - it's all wet. Why is there always shredded wet Kleenex on the floor of the bus on a rainy day? Within minutes you're thinking you'd have been better off waiting in the rain a little longer for the next bus. The windows are all fogged up, and everyone is literally steaming as the bus is already way too hot. The moisture rising from people's wet clothes would be funny, if you weren't so uncomfortable. You're wet and way too hot in your coat with the heat on in the bus. The crowded bus and not being able to see anything out of the windows makes you feel strangely anxious. Should you just get off at the next stop and wait for another bus? The bus is so crowded, how will you make your way to the door. Maybe you should just stay on, it's raining even harder now.
I remember rainy day commutes all too well. I can't say I miss them - at all. I understand why that cyclist opted to ride to work instead of take the bus.
Today I am grateful to sit in my chair by the window, pull my quilt around me and take a few more minutes to watch the rain.
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