Rain is the ocean crying in that it may return to itself.

On the way home while walking through the rain, I noticed some of the trees in Vancouver are so large, and the rain so consistent here (it can rain for a month straight) that streams can be observed running down their trunks. I have never seen this before; but then again, I have never lived in Vancouver before.

Rain has its own music. Considering the massive tree before me, I listened to the enduring song of the unrelenting deluge pelting the perennials able-bodied wood. Then finding their way back from all the other branches, the droplets made their way to the main flow down the center of the trunk. Here, I observed, was the most direct path for the now coalescing vertical rivulets to flow. From here, they traveled through Bark Canyon, then cascaded along Root Boulevard to finally spill out onto the vast airy expanse of Lawn Prairie. There was something about watching this unadulterated flow: the sound of it; the smell of it; the feel of it; like a soothing balm, massaged my appeasing ease.

Probing beyond Lawn Prairie, I witnessed this returning current progressing onward joining yet a greater flow, its spirit percolating upon the road abutting the sidewalk where I stood. Off in the distance, the mighty Fraser River, with it’s own munificent music, gently eased itself into the Pacific Ocean – the mightiest chorus of all.

Back where I stood on the sidewalk, I continued my journey home. Now walking with the rain, I followed the stream; it was going my way.

Randy Quickfall ღƪ(ˆ◡ˆ)ʃ ☼