Only happy when it rains
It rarely rains in Cambridge, or rather it rarely rarely rains like this.
A visitor from Rome might well complain about how often it does rain, but then a friend of mine who spent a year as a visitor in Rome was amazed by the near clockwork rain there every afternoon.
Rain in Cambridge, whether heavy or light, tends to blow over fairly quickly with the exception of the prevailing thunderstorms which tend to get caught up be the few hills around and bounce around often crossing the city three times before finally escaping.
This afternoon a large cloud floated over Cambridge and set up shop. The rain is, in the main, neither the usual light but wet drizzle nor the kind of heavy rain that makes even the shortest journey outside more like swimming than walking. It falls out of the sky as if it is the falling that is important, rather than the arriving and on the way it casts its tints and reflections on the nighttime Cambridge streets.
The result, aided by the lazy human reluctance to venture outside in the wet, is a series of scenes that the amateur photographer would die to be able to capture and that the right sort of movie director dreams about.
It's nights like this that remind me why I like Cambridge.
A visitor from Rome might well complain about how often it does rain, but then a friend of mine who spent a year as a visitor in Rome was amazed by the near clockwork rain there every afternoon.
Rain in Cambridge, whether heavy or light, tends to blow over fairly quickly with the exception of the prevailing thunderstorms which tend to get caught up be the few hills around and bounce around often crossing the city three times before finally escaping.
This afternoon a large cloud floated over Cambridge and set up shop. The rain is, in the main, neither the usual light but wet drizzle nor the kind of heavy rain that makes even the shortest journey outside more like swimming than walking. It falls out of the sky as if it is the falling that is important, rather than the arriving and on the way it casts its tints and reflections on the nighttime Cambridge streets.
The result, aided by the lazy human reluctance to venture outside in the wet, is a series of scenes that the amateur photographer would die to be able to capture and that the right sort of movie director dreams about.
It's nights like this that remind me why I like Cambridge.