Older, but no wiser

Rain. Heavy, solid and very, very wet. And wind; lashings of both of them. “Driving conditions treacherous” say the traffic reports; a good day to take the train instead of the bike. The walk to the station is a battle of wits; umbrella angled against the wind until a sneaky gust slips through a gap between buildings and catches me unawares. Then the wind finds a new trick; comes from behind so that with umbrella tilted backwards, the forces of wind and rain combine to create a torrent that tumbles from the brolly’s edge, perfectly angled to catch the back of my legs.

Seeping through wet coats, dripping off wet umbrellas, running down wet bags; the water makes its inevitable way earthwards, collecting in puddles on the carriage floor. Outside, the wind chases clouds across a graphite sky, street lights have halos of slanting rain, car headlights illuminate rain dancing on glistening roads; elsewhere lighted windows serve only to emphasise the bleakness. Then carriage windows steam up enclosing our little world.

The next station, and doors open; our world expands for a moment, taking in the semi-circle of sights and sounds that extends a little way from the opening - a cascade from an overflowing station canopy gutter, wind ripples a grey puddle, feet running to make the dash from the shelter of the station canopy to the doors of the train. Now a new cohort of freshly-wettened commuters brings reinforcements to the water which is threatening to spread it’s influence over every square inch of the carriage and its contents. Then the doors close again, shutting out the immediacy of the weather and sealing us once more in our cloud-on-wheels.

Another day begins.