The Wet Look

Those of you who know the Trusty BoulevarDog, either in person (a poor choice of words, I must admit) or virtually through this medium, know that she does not like water. Oh, she'll drink water--often from the most inappropriate vessels, such as rain gutters and stagnant buckets--but she does not like swimming, bathing (alas), or walking in the rain.

Well, the rain-gauge at Chez Boulevardier read nearly one and one-half inches this morning. (This is the accumulated total since Sunday night.) Monday had been a rain day, and the Trusty BoulevarDog did not go out. For that reason, she looked at me with watery eyes and crossed legs this morning; if she could speak, I'm sure she would have begged for a stroll. As we found ourselves in a gap between storms, I obliged.

We walked the East End. Monday's rains, and those of this morning, had generally done good things for The Boulevard -- rain-slicked roads may be more dangerous for vehicles to use, but they're also much more attractive, especially in the diffused morning light. The air, scrubbed by the precipitation, was fresh and cool. This storm provided the season's final nudge to The Boulevard's deciduous trees -- the few leaves that had, on Christmas, clung to the Chinese Pistaches along with their shocking-pink seed-berries, had been knocked to the ground. Fortunately, not too many branches or leaves clogged The Boulevard's gutters.

Your Boulvardier stopped at Rudy's Donut House; the regulars were there, including Rudy himself, but the shop was generally quiet. We did not encounter any other walkers, save one young man with a tightly rolled grey umbrella. From a distance he appeared to be carrying a golf club, which, on a rainy morning, had Your Boulevardier even more confused than is usual.