You know that feeling when, after waking up in the morning in a bed that isn’t your own, it takes you a few seconds to remember exactly where you are?
That doesn’t happen to me when I’m in Vancouver. When I wake up on the west coast, I know exactly where I am from my first breath. There is something wonderful about the crispness of the air, even indoors, on this side of Canada. It is perhaps the confluence of ocean and mountains in one small slice of the country, or perhaps it is something else; whatever it is, even blindfolded I would be able to know when I am on the coast of the Pacific, for the air fills my lungs in a way that constantly feels refreshing and rejuvenating.
It has rained all day here, today, and that’s okay.
Today, we have seen friends, we have seen family. We have eaten, as we always do, delicious food. We have eaten shortbread cookies while Pedro the lovebird sat on our shoulders. We have run from houses to cars to buildings, hoping to stay dry as the rain fell steadily, heavily.
It is raining now, late in the night, as I type this. I can hear the rain pound against the roof above me, and if I look closely through the darkness, I can see the raindrops clinging to the windows, refusing to flow down to the ground.
I take a deep breath of the refreshing air, and close my eyes. The rain is my lullaby as I ready myself for sleep.