I once heard a story that all nighttime scenes on a movie set were watered down with a heavy blast of water. The theory states that all the wet roads and surfaces are more dramatic when sprayed down with a fresh layer of H2O. I’ll have to Google that one.

I’m wearing my new Lilo & Stitch socks, bearing relevance further in my story below. Full day of worked accomplished, and I step out of my office building. Downpour.

I wore a light jacket because the weather man said that it would be a pleasant 55 degrees. Liar.

Earlier, the deejay on the radio confirmed the forecast of warm vibes throughout the day. Liar.

The buses aren’t moving. I have no idea for the current gridlock. The poetically cruel rains beats on the window pane.

It’s raining too much.

I exit the bus in town. I’m flipping a mental coin: cross the street and head underground for my connection home, or cross the street and head into the heart of town to see the Monumental Christmas tree in the center of the ice skating rink.

Requiring an image today–and already having conjured the story’s title, out of thin air–I opt for Choice B. With the rest of the family at the girls’ first basketball game, in a neighboring community, I don’t feel like the Deadbeat Dad for one moment.

There’s no way I’m going to stay dry under my mini umbrella, the weather is too much of a task for this toy tool. I resort to numerous meteorological-dodging tricks such as the Perpendicular Wall Fortress, but to no avail. My umbrella is twisted inside out, and outside in. My shoes, pants from the knees down, and jacket around my torso are soaked, all of it.

It’s raining too much.

I have to remind myself that not all creative moments are wrapped up in a perfect package of warm weather and delightful wish-I-were-at-the-beach temps. Some photographic images can only be made in the rain, snow, fog, or darkness of night. I head toward the tree.

It’s raining too much.

I recall the fact that four record stores are in town, and that I still need to visit each for an item on my yearly goal list. I pop my head into three, just to say that I’ve been there and done that, even if I’ve already been there and done that, years ago. I have no intention of purchasing anything.

Dodging raindrops and commuters, I eventually arrive in Market Square.

It’s raining too much.

Not many customers are visiting the make-shift village of gift-buying opportunities.

It’s raining too much.

No one is skating around the tree tonight.

It’s raining too much.

I linger only long enough to snap a few photos of the towering tree, fully decorated and illuminated this evening.

It’s raining too much.

I walk past the coffee and tea store, ponder the idea of buying a Certain Special Tea Drinker a gift, but, you guessed it….

…it’s raining too much, and I just want to get home.

I locate the nearest train. I’m deliberate in my method of boarding in a station three stops prior to my usual platform. Luckily, I score a seat. Sitting is such a rare homebound treat for me.

My socks, worn for good luck and an inevitable first win for the girls basketball team, are soaked. But they served their purpose, as I received a text stating the good news of their victory.

I peer out the window—nothing but my own reflection including the woman seated behind me—and a few persistent points of light that pierce the darkness.

I can only assume that it’s still raining too much, but at this point, that’s just pure speculation.