It's raining today. Really raining. The pot holes have become puddles - great lakes that make the pavements into islands, and make over-the-road into a intrepid journey that necessitates planning and provisions (I'm thinking inflatable shoes).
Within moments of the outdoors my glasses are speckled with droplets, each mirroring the next, creating what I like to think of as fly vision - eighty worlds replace the one, and each one differs by the tiniest degree. For a moment I am astounded by the idea of the quantum, convinced the reflection of a reflection of a reflection is winking at me. I turn, expecting to see my head disappearing in front of me, but only succeed in a bad impression of Gene Kelly, and splash around like I was two again - naked in the paddling pool. I wipe my glasses and trudge onwards.
My coat, now wrapped around in a futile attempt to carry my home with me (Oh how the snails must laugh at our ridiculous permanent housing!), becomes sodden, the wet seeping through - a stealth cold that seems to chill the bone first, then settles in the fabric of your clothes, just in case you overheated.
I squelch myself into a corner on the train, where the heat melts the cold to damp making moisture heavy in the air and fusty to the nose. Outside metal glints in the wet, slippery to the eye and foot. The new greenery bursting from the verges and banks hunches, waiting patiently, knowing it's time will come: and then just you wait - see what I can do? Rivulets form on the window, pathways that carve the quickest way to the ground, bouncing off those trapped by surface tension, liberating the bravehearts with the will to break free, to say goodbye to the fixed point, to find their freedom, to join the kamikaze slide to... well, where ever?
I contemplate joining in the break for the unknown, smashing through the glass into another world and place, and Alice in Wonderland through the filter of Die Hard; when I reflect that, apart from the inevitable result of my failing to break the safety glass and rebounding embarrassingly onto my chair to the mirth/disapproval of the other commuters and considerable pain to myself, the rain has not made the world smaller; rather it has made me see anew and askance. It has made strange, and in doing so has made my day more rewarding.
I stand up with purpose and await the opening of the doors with new vigour. As they open I take a breath, look out and... nah, still wish I was curled up dry in bed.