Portland is the land of gentle mists, not these torrential downpours.
Driving home today, the rain was falling so hard that I had to slow to ten miles per. On the highway. Onncoming traffic seemed to float on a grey and foamy sea — the cars swam through the bouncing rain and through the thick pools that did not have time to drain from the roads.
At home, Simon asked to be let out. I offered, and he took a quick step down, but then paused. He looked up at me and dashed back in side. He can hunt birds some other time, he says. He does not like the rain.
The current shower has subsided so that I can see the vegetable garden: it’s flooded! And here I thought I would be able to mow the lawn today.
On Monday morning — after Sunday’s initial onslaught of rain — the drive to work was gorgeous. Low clouds hung over the Willamette River, clinging to the tree-lined hills. Perpetually in the distance stood a grey veil which divided me from the rest of the world.
But now the rain begins again in earnest. This is like Texas!