Writing the Rain

“To write in the Northwest is to write about rain: to make a joke of it, to find something in it that will make you feel superior, to hide it in poetry, to assert plainly its positive effects” (Laurie Ricou).

Rain, rain, rain. It’s everywhere. Always talked about, always mentioned. A drained but still dripping clich√©. I smell the rain and know that I am home. Transcendental and ordinary, it is a necessary condition of living on the West Coast, a reality better embraced than endured, “a presence rather than an event,” as Ricou goes on to say in The Arbutus/Madrone Files.

here is my rain file, my hiding it away in poetry:

Vancouver rain

is periods dropping from the sky,

falling onto pavement

with violent punctuation.


It is the periods of life spent

diving for cover,

dodging puddles,

damning the absent umbrella.


Weighted under and waiting out

The worst. Is not over.


More falling to come.