I know it’s raining. I see it. I feel it on my skin. I don’t care anymore. I keep moving as it washes over me, as the front’s hard edge gives way to the softer tail.
I reach the first dam on the Ottawa and pull the boat down a street. The sidewalk is empty. Water pools and drips down the brim of my hat.
On top of the dam, the rain stops. I stare out. The distant shore is grey for a moment then gone, swallowed by the next wall of rain.
“It will be here soon,” I think.
I watch it come, marching across the water. I don’t try to run. I don’t hide. I feel the wind rise and the first drops on my skin. I’m happy the air is warm.
I stand in the grass as the storm washes over me, not caring, eating a plain bagel, just in it, whatever it is.