Vancouver, you’re a peach

Vancouver, you’re a peach

Before I arrived, I didn’t know the truth of the West Coast’s wet, cold, relentless winters. After I landed, I learned of days and weeks and months of rain with few rays of sun to slice up the grey that pushes back morning light and brings on early dusk.

Weather chased friends back to Ontario, back to Quebec, back to wherever they came to escape the seemingly endless permagrey and return to sunny skies that promised freezing temperatures friendly to snow.

I moved cities too, but only from the North Shore to Vancouver. I won’t say the rain never gets to me. It does. Not every time, but often, I meet the rain on its turf, enter its mists, walk the empty beaches and listen to the patter against the water. The slosh of my rubber boots intentionally drag through rivulets, occasionally I land with both feet in a puddle from sheer raindrop joy.

It’s also true that after these rain-breaking weeks and months of wet wrung from clouds, hours of cold feet and soggy gloves, pants soaked again from the wheel-spray of cars and trucks, umbrellas pulled inside-out, and the edge of people’s nerves shot with drizzle and cold, relief strikes in the dying afternoon when sky succumbs to sun’s fierce light and draws back a curtain to reveal the peach hidden in the clouds.

 

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