I’ve heard you say that the wet side of the mountains is stifling.

Too much gray, too much damp, too much gloom.

Maybe there’s nothing we can do to change that, but I’m going to take a moment and try.

Because I love the mist and the fog and the wet streets and clouds of steam and the soft blanket of white noise that falls from the sky. I love the puddles and reflections and rivulets and the way headlights cut through neatly-defined slivers of wet air. I love the moss and the ferns and the freshness of cool damp that you can breathe in and feel drifting growing swirling around you. Plants and trees filling themselves with it like we pull breath emerging from water. I love bundling against soft rain, the steaming hot cup, and huddling inside that’s more cozy and warm because outside is not.

This pairs well with rocky coast where giant trees give way to towering cliffs and jagged thunderous surf that continues to great vibrant salty oceans too far to see and too deep to survive.

Rain is sea exploring land.

The sun brings people out to play and make noise, and the rainy days welcome quiet and reflection. They nudge joys to gather inside, into houses and bars and noodle joints and libraries and places I love to be. There’s a softness and warmth and romance that no dry, sunny day can ever match.

Those that inhabit the damp for months stream outside once the warm sun emerges into a clear blue sky. Maybe they’re enduring misery until summer, but I merely exchange one set of joys for another.