GOING OUT IN JOY — IN A SHOWER
Thirsty? Have you ever been several miles into a summer hike only to find your water bottle has leaked and there’s not a drop remaining?
Some of us get that way in between rainy days.
Rainy days – and rainy nights – are, for me, like having a frosty new bottle of water appear along the the dusty trail as if by magic. Not to get all biblical or anything, but it’s hard not to think of the Isaiah lines about rains coming down from the heavens so we can go out in joy and come back in peace. . . I particularly like the words that follow, about bursting into song and clapping hands.
OK, rain is not always an unmitigated blessing. Floods, mudslides, downed trees, sinkholes, erosion . . . and now we have to worry about atmospheric rivers. Atmospheric rivers?? Think ribbons of water vapor about the size of the mouth of the Mississippi River (NOAA gave me that image) that float around in the skies en route to swashing across the countryside. California’s old happenstance, new reality.
But what I love is just regular rain. For city dwellers, and committed city walkers like yours truly, it’s an invitation to come out.
There are, for instance, photo ops everywhere, especially the reflection kind. Somehow the allure of cozy wine bars and coffee shops grows exponentially with every raindrop, which tempts us passers-by to stop and admire the festivity within and the lights bouncing back at us.
I also love the Umbrella Dance thing. With every other walker coming your way under another umbrella, there is a reflexive silent negotiation in passing. You go high, I go low? You tilt Left, I tilt right? Smiling helps. It may be just my hometown bias, but somehow I feel umbrella dancers are gentler in San Francisco than some other locales. New Yorkers, for instance (and I’ve been in Manhattan rains from Hurricane Ida on down) can be, well, insistent: I’m going low, and don’t you dare bother me.
Such negotiations meanwhile, as well as the overall art of wet walks, also encourage looking down. All in all it is an abundance of riches: dancing leaves on street trees above, shimmering glass-fronts around, sidewalk scenery below. This walker is a confirmed sidewalk freak.
If the rains hang around for a while, wet leaves on sidewalks stain themselves into urban art. Sometimes with the help of newly-dropped friends that haven’t yet been around long enough to fade.
On the sheltered side of the street — we’re talking (walking) residential blocks here; you can’t find this downtown — if the rains hang around long enough they turn sidewalk blocks into something moldy. I can’t believe I’m saying anything nice about mold — given the allergies of friends and family and too many people in sub-standard housing. But greenery patterns on sheltered sidewalks can also be lovely.
These (above) reminded me of the Impressionists. They were on a fairly steep hillside. It is wise to step cautiously around the green if you don’t want to interrupt your walking career with a broken hip.
But still, what wonders Mother Nature has for us.
Rainy day love may have something to do, in my case, with the long and not forgotten California drought. In California (and probably elsewhere) we talk about ‘water years’ – October 1 of the preceding year to September 30 of the one you’re thinking of. Official droughts have to do with measurements of rainfall in ‘water years’ and according to those measurements our last severe drought years were 2012-2016. But when your wetness has been coming from atmospheric rivers with long periods of dryness in between, drought can feel endless. I do not complain about San Francisco’s year-round walkable weather, but can we spell Climate Change?
Last ‘water year’ — 2022–23 — was one of the wettest on record for the Golden State, but we’re still heavy into conservation. (Pour the rest of your glass on the plants! Re-use towels, reduce laundry! I’ll skip the rhymes about flushing that are unsuitable for a family publication.) Drought years don’t fade easily from memory.
So here’s to rainy days everywhere. Rainy walks. Cozy coffee shops where everyone feels connected by the shelter. Umbrella dancing. Sidewalk art.
And not least, when the view from your window looks anything like the above, a clear message from God:
Grab a good book. Naptime.
