This weekend was a perfect example of Puget Sound weather. Saturday, which had been predicted to be rainy, was sunny and blue. A perfect opportunity to get out and mow the backyard. The temperature was in the mid sixties (Fahrenheit) and humidity was above 70%. Warm and just slightly muggy. I know my Los Angeles siblings will smirk to read mid-60's as "warm," but I have become acclimated to the Sound and I was sweating freely by the time I was finished.
I spent an idle hour on the front deck, reading some technical manuals, waving at the neighbors as they walked by, and listening to the dive-bombing buzz of the hummingbirds as they chased each other from the feeders that Mrs. Islander has hung on the eaves.
Sunday I woke to the sound of soft dripping. I stepped into the backyard with my cup of coffee and sat at the patio table, underneath the umbrella, and watched the heavy mist fall from the air. Too quite to be heard itself, only it's collection in eaves, leaves, and the patio umbrella provided enough mass to drip. I tried to lean underneath the umbrella as much as possible, but the mist was light enough that It didn't soak through my fleece robe.
In the trees around the neighborhood I heard the raucous sounds of the songbird's dawn congress. I sipped my cooling coffee and noted how perfectly conifer needles are adapted to this climate. I was struck again that I lived just across Admiralty Inlet from North America's temperate rainforest.
I had plans for the weekend that expected rain on Saturday. When Saturday was fair, my plans for Sunday changed to require that it, too, to be fair. Nope. My plans had no control over the weather.
Quiet. Cool. Wet.
I felt an absurd sense of peace.
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