The norm for autumn in this part of the world is driving rain. It's "slash-and-drench". I had a number of parcels to lug home from shopping today, and had managed to find a seat in the bus shelter. The pictures shows the view I had.
The woman in a black coat in front of me had a rucksack purse, and the edging on a zipper pocket had turned up, allowing a little bit of water to pool on her purse. That held my fascination for a while, making my wait nearly zen.
People variously had umbrellas or nothing, and were variously more or less dry or more or less wet. Quietly they stood still, or quietly they chatted, waiting for a gas-fueled chance to get out of the rain. It was more hushed than on a sunny day - like a low-pressure system means low-key behavior. I too was waiting, sitting in my red rubber boots, parcels on my lap piled to my chin, and realized that I actually enjoyed this. The rain, the puddles, the huddles, the community that comes from sharing the whims of the weather.
It had been a long time since the last time, way back before summer. Today's gray wetness was like an old friend coming back to visit.