soggy shoes

It's Sunday night in Chicago and the rain unexpectedly pounds against my 3rd floor window. There's nothing I've found more beautiful or captivating in this city than the rain. There's a certain drama to it, the way it falls diagonally rather than straight down, the way the wind howls and the drops vary their beat depending on the distance traveled or the surface that breaks their fall. The way it seems to never quite stop, blowing in and out continuously, creeping up on you out of nowhere, yet traveling predictably by road from miles away.

I never carry an umbrella. There's something I find stifling about the planning that goes into the act. I'll admit that I love the feeling of soaked through soggy shoes and damp hair and that transition from wet to dry, when you're safely back in your apartment, freshly released from your sopping clothes, sucking on strands of shampoo flavored rain.

The photo below was taken in downtown Chicago during one of the most intense storms of the summer. The rain swept in with a fury, crashing gallons of water back and forth across the street in tides. From a hotel lobby, I was able to safely observe the scene and avoid total inundation. Singles and pairs raced about with a lighthearted urgency. Cars sailed quickly by. And this man just stood there, frozen in the middle of the street, hunched over like a streetlight.