Here in Vancouver, the rain has been hammering down for almost 48 solid hours. Mounds of soggy leaves are turning to slippery mush by the sides of the road; coming home from work yesterday, I was caught in a downpour so torrential that my waterproofs soaked clean through. Our balcony has accumulated small lakes here and there where the decking isn’t quite level, and the cats have taken to staring miserably out of the window and then back at us as though there might be something we could do to fix this. The Grouse Grind is closed due to hazardous conditions and there are rumours of mild turbidity in the drinking water.
In spite of all of this, I’m loving the endless rain because somewhere not far from here, it’s falling as snow. More than a metre forecast at Whistler in the space of a week, and they’re starting to send out emails that mention the tantalizing words “early opening.” There’s already more snow at mid-mountain than I saw during a handful of early season days in December last year. I’ve been refreshing the webcams obsessively, watching the coverage increase. It’s getting close. It’s getting really, really close.
Tonight I’m listening to the rain that keeps on falling, and I’m smiling.