Coming alive
Friday, 31 March 2006 | 2:52
I woke up to a morning thick with fog and low-lying cloud; it was beautiful. The room was dark, so overcast was the sky. I don’t know why, but this gray, wet weather depresses me when I’m inside. Everything looks so pretty, yet so gloomy. Mais dès que je suis dehors, mon humeur change. J’adore la brume, la pluie, l’air humide… J’ai marché à l’arrêt d’autobus avec une sourire sur mes lèvres. The mist was gently falling on my face, and the tops of buildings disappeared into the fog. Pigeons flew by, weaving in and out of the clouds. Cars sped through puddles on the road, splashing great waves on to the sidewalk – and on to any unfortunate passers-by. Il faisait froid et j’étais fatiguée, mais j’étais aussi heureuse. I put on my headphones and started my mp3 player, which was set to random, yet somehow played a playlist that was perfect for waking up in the clouds.
Tom Jones – Help Yourself (I guess that’s Sir Tom now…)
The Dandy Warhols – Bohemian Like You
Simon Dray – Posez les armes
Boney M – One Way Ticket to the Blues
Wiseguys – Start the Commotion
John Coltrane – Giant Steps
Michel Polnareff – Allo Georgina
François Béranger – Tranche de vie
New Order – Krafty
That was all I had time for before arriving at work. (It did occur to me how unmatched the upbeat music was for the weather – something ethereal like Enya, or desolate Ryan Adams, would have been more appropriate, but it also likely would’ve been too relaxing and made me sleepy 
) In any case, it woke me up and put me in a good mood, such that I was shimmying my little behind while waiting at the bus stop!
By the time I left work in the evening, the clouds had risen, the fog had largely dissipated, and the mist had turned to rain – not just light showers, but big, fat drops, falling on my head with a big ’splat’. The distance between my work and the bus stop is a mere 2 blocks, but I arrived at the stop soaking wet. My hair (which was thankfully pulled back into a ponytail) was plastered to my neck and face. Water streamed down my cheeks, lined my lips, dripped off the end of my nose. My feet got wet from standing in puddles while waiting to cross streets. Mon pantalon était mouillé, grâce à les éclaboussements des autres piétons. La seule partie de mon corps qui a resté sèche étaient mes oreilles – parce qu’elles étaient cachées sous mon casque! Malgré tout ça, j’avais envie de danser, de rire, de chanter… All I wanted to do was let out great whoops of joy, it was so lovely being in the rain… I could smell the moisture in the air, and the earthiness of the mud, gradually being exposed as the snow melts; I could taste life again. Maybe that’s the difference between winter and spring; it’s not just about temperatures rising and snow melting and days getting longer – it’s about everything feeling alive again. Winter is peaceful; spring is buzzing with life.
