It is a rainy evening—not at all cold, rather warm, but rainy, rainy. Everything is wet; the river is sopping, and if you stand still a moment you hear the myriad little voices of the rain. As you walk, the air lifts just enough to blow on your cheeks. Ah! how delicious that is! It is not only leaves you smell when you stand under the trees to-day; you smell the black wet boughs and stems, the ‘forest’ smell.
It’s been raining for a couple days and I keep switching between loving the reflective mood– stupor almost– that it puts me into, and being annoyed that I never seem to wake up until the sun comes out. I ran in the drizzle yesterday morning and despite really not liking to run before 3 pm or so, I was able to appreciate the electric greenness everywhere in the water and weird light. Rain does for tree-filled midtown Omaha what salt does for a tomato… makes it sharper, more flavorful– more like what it is, as Dan says. Though the Dundee area isn’t glamorous (mostly some oldish houses, a couple parks, and a shopping/dining district that tries to be hip), it’s a bit of a fairyland to me. I can’t drive down Underwood Ave without thinking about all the 4th of July parades, walking to school and back, riding bikes with my best friend of the past sixteen years, picnicking at the Feist concert in the park, taking the Vespa up for falafel, or sledding on the huge hills when the city closes down for snow. The reminiscing is pretty silly, but this corner of the city has always been my home, and won’t be for much longer. It’s only appropriate that Dundee should be drenched in a green that shouldn’t exist in reality, because I can no longer see its truth under twenty years of memories.
Quotation via A Writer’s Ruminations.