Rain enchants me. Always has. Our firstborn son’s middle name attests to this: Rain. He isn’t named after just any rain, I hasten to add. He’s named after a particular kind of rain, the kind of rain that arrives for the first time in the merry month of May, the kind of rain that power-washes the filthy streets of Montreal in late spring: namely, summer rain.
We pay attention to the things we love. Careful attention. And I love rain. So when it rained today in Montreal, I couldn’t help but notice that something wasn’t right. This wasn’t the winter rain made famous by Guns N’ Roses; it was a summer rain.
I’ve never seen anything like it: a summer rain in February. It was extremely weird. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t beautiful. Because it was beautiful: the sound of it sublime, the smell of it intoxicating. And yet I’m left with a deep sense of foreboding.
—John Faithful Hamer, Blue Notes (2017)