rain

I took a walk along the river tonight while it is raining, making sure to walk over every puddle along my way, secure with my big snow boots.

London at night while it is raining is curious. People walk slower. Seems like a paradoxical response. I guess in London there is some charm to walking in the rain, with Parliament lit in the foreground. Some were jogging. People are always jogging along the river -- during the early morning, at night, and now I know while it is raining as well.

I couldn't see very well, my glasses obscured by pelts of rain water.

I didn't have an umbrella. I don't use an umbrella in London. It is futile. Either it doesn't rain that much, just a sprinkle like tonight, or it rains very hard and the wind is too fierce. So I haven't had an umbrella since I've been here, although it rains most days.

I tried to feel something transcendent but couldn't. You can never summon those feelings. They only come when you least expect them, not during a picturesque scene like one written for a script of a movie. Scene: London. Setting: rainy, river Thames on the left, Parliament lit with Big Ben chiming in the background. Blocking: character walks slowly through the night, alone, while various couples walk slowly on either side of her. Queue violins.

The theatre is the only thing that particularly inspires me at the moment. The theatre is an affection of reality. I suppose then that it is sad that real life, walking in the rain in London, shouldn't make me feel much. But I suppose in a way that is affectation as well. Our perceptions of it is anyway.

[pic: Sophia Myles]