Rainy rain rain

A rainy, humid, grey day.

While I can never handle too many of these consecutively, I do love a morning waking to thunderstorms and the sounds of rain overflowing over the eaves. The barest hints of green moss creeping across the shingles covering the verandah. The absence of city sounds other than a car slicing wetly through the street.

And while I did have a tennis date scheduled (and canceled), I do like puttery Sundays. Nothing planned, nothing arranged. No Monday deadline. No phone calls.

Despite one or two irksome annoyances nudging at my consciousness, I can revel in the smell of wet pavement and the sound of laundry tumbling through the dryer.

Small, simple things. Few people suspect it, but I actually love being alone.

-----
(later)

The beach was a fascinating place for a walk this evening. Creeping off Lake Ontario were patches of Atlantic Ocean-style fog, cloaking parts of the boardwalk in cold, damp haze... only to briefly clear away and return to pockets of hot humidity.

And it was stunning. People who avoid the beach late at night -- usually for reasonable reasons, like fearing for their safety -- sometimes miss fascinating facets of that neighbourhood. I take my chances, I take my risks... and sometimes it pays off. Knock wood.