Rain falls in a clear, steady downpour that coats the world in grey. Water runs down the sidewalks and across the street as the bus splashes noisily through it. It's windows frame the faces of the passengers; they stare with little interest at the city outside. People scurry by, the less fortunate who have only their umbrellas to shelter them from the weather. The clock at the front of the bus reads 3:37 pm. I sigh, leaning my head against the window and feeling the cold of the glass as it presses against my cheek.
Seattle is used to this kind of weather. We see it often; the water turning our city into so many shades of grey and blue. We go about our business; progress doesn't stop for rain. We wake up, go out. We are fed facts each day, statistics and dates and names and then are forced to spit it back out again, prove that we know it. Society welcomes those who do this well, the news reporters feeding us stories of death in faraway places as we eat our breakfast cereal, and watch with eyes wide open. The models who put on the high heeled shoes and show us just how bad we look. Society pushes away those who don't have the vision to see the news; who can't fit into those shoes. It's a fact of life I know well.
Pulling my journal from my bag, I open it and write in bold, purposeful letters: January 15th, 2012. I watch the way the raindrops slide down the window, each one like a single tear. My pencil floats across the page, capturing the poetry of the rain.
The bus splashes past apartment buildings that rise high against the clouds. It comes to a rest and I make my way off; standing behind an old man in a yellow raincoat. It has tiny ducks printed along the bottom, and I want to tell him I like it. But he walks off quickly, head bent, hands in pockets. He whistles as he goes, and I smile quietly to myself, beginning the walk home.
Billboards surround me; and cars rush by. Everyone is everywhere, rushing to and fro like clockwork figures. I open my arms wide, and stand still. I tilt my head back; closing my eyes as the raindrops patter out a rhythm on my face. My smile is wide, mirroring my arms. I have found a solitary kind of peace here, in the heart of the city.