I grew up, and still live, in what we — as in humans— have decided to call a coastal temperate rainforest which as you can I imagine by the name, rains¹. Sometimes a lot.

And it doesn’t seem inherent to my nature to love rain. Now the sun. Oh, me and the sun get on swimmingly. It’s one of those effortless relationships, ya know? Like we could go years not seeing each other, not even talking on the phone, and once reunited? Just like old times. Easy. Natural. Comfortable.

The rain? Now that’s more of an enigma for me. As a kid I literally dreamt of California. Inundated with skateboard media I longed for that dusty, dry, coastal desert air.

You know how children’s stories and Christmas movies and other fantastical tales often have a moment where the kids are getting older and start doubting the magic of life?

Often, in these movies and books it’s quite literal, fantastic magic which they had experienced like dragons and wizards and talking lions or whatever.

Then there’s that moment when they have to choose, they have to remember, they have to open themselves up rather than close themselves off, and just believe—then they’ll experience the magic again.

I see herons—sorry, Great Blue Herons—most of the year, but their plumage seems to change this time of year so now I’m really eyeing them up.

They’re stoic lil’ fuckers. Except, they’re not that little. I often see them knee deep is some murky estuary or river water, motionless. And then, BAM, they dive their awkwardly long neck into the murk and in an instant come up with some fish or worm or… frog? I don’t actually know what they’re munching, but damn if they ain’t good at catching that mystery meal.

With their statuesque poise and precise, ninja-like actions one might think to call them “elegant” or “refined.” When they take flight some of that elegance turns to grandeur—how is this creature becoming airborne? How slow its wings flap. How languidly it seems to move through the air. Amazing.

The sun was out. This may sound like a mundane statement—I assure you—it is not. The sun was out! By the glory of God, the Sun had broken through the clouds and reached my dull, damp skin.

You see, I live in what they (ecologists?) call a coastal temperate rainforest. What you need to know about this is that it rains (shocker) and even when it’s not raining, it’s damp.

When the clouds take form after their short summer break, they can be quite stubborn and persistent. Perhaps it had only been days since the direct light of the Sun had graced us mere peasants—but it certainly felt like weeks.