Yesterday afternon, as I was just about to begin coursing the online drawing tutorial that I found, I looked outside my window, and I saw these straight, shiny rays of water coming down from the sky. It was raining despite the muggy sunshine, and I got the urge to go outside and feel the water on my skin. I put on a pair of shorts and my favorite white shirt, went down the stairs and out the door.
The first thing I noticed was the smell of the air - deep and rich, the smell of the first water drops on earth. It smelled of moist grass, dripping leaves of deep green, and of an invisible layer of brown mist rising from the earth, thankful for the rain. I looked up at the sun through the shiny white clouds, hoping to discern the spectrum colors; instead I saw clear and sunny rain.
I breathed in deep as I walked down Craig St, because through each inbreath I felt all those smells tingling and awakening me inside, as if my lungs were being cleaned with the musky, mint-like aroma. The smell felt deeper when I passed the sidewalk trees, neatly centered on their square patches of earth, so I decided to go to where the smell would be strongest - the grassy area next to Heinz Chapel. I turned right on Winthrop and walked on, filling my lungs and syncing my breaths with the earth patches on the sidewalk.
The rain stopped as I walked, as if it carefully rationed the freshness for the day. But one block ahead, I saw a stream of water drops still falling onto the sidewalk corner. I looked up, and I saw the drops fall off a small building pipe on the fifth floor, late remnants of the recent falls. The drops fell one by one in neat sparkly spheres, and they seemed to almost glide down when approaching the ground, their acceleration cut short by the dense, humid air.
Looking up, I let one fall into my mouth. I realized that it was not that hard to achieve, and I caught a later one too. Happily engaged in a new game, I remained on that corner, catching water drops with my tongue, nose, face, and hands until the drops shrunk to a breeze-like size, harder to see, and much farther-flying due to wind. Each drop in my mouth was a success, each drop on my face was a refreshing delight, and watching the little pearl-like spheres fly their way down like excited fairies was a novel picture to me. I made a mental note to come to this place after later rainfalls, and resumed my walk to Heinz Chapel.
Once there, I anxiously sniffed the plants and the ground, but the smell had already diluted into the blank air. The trace of grassy mint was there if I brought my nose close to the earth, but the full and rich smell had passed. I walked into the park and sat on the grass between three trees. I could smell grass, earth, and trees, but the smell was a dry one - I could tell that the trees above had roofed the earth below, and I was sitting on a patch of grass almost untouched by the rain.
So I moved to an open space of grass, and lay down, face to the sky. The sun was clouded but visible, the sky was covered with stark grey clouds, a few hints of blue streaks sneaking between their silver linings. As I watched them, the clouds gently but surely floated on towards the East, bringing heavier clouds that hid the sun's circle for a good ten minutes.
I turned my head to the left, and I saw Heinz Chapel, that peaky monument to gray symmetry and beauty. Thinking ahead onto my drawing, I looked at the building and focused on its noteworthy traits - proportions, levels, colors, ornamentation details. I then turned my head right and up - the Cathedral of Learning stood up tall, 42 stories of massive, piles of rock stacked over piles of rocks, a monument to size and to persistence. Near the top of the building, a lone bird took off from the ledge and glided around the building, visibly sensing and catching the wind currents, toying with them. He slowed down as he flew south, then the wind stopped him so that he remained still in midair, wings wide open, in dynamic equilibrium between the windforce and whatever magic his graceful body allowed him to exert. Then he dodged off and rounded the cathedral on the west side, catching a wind current on his way. He smoothly speeded from a standstill to slingshot speed, riding the windwave out to well on the other side with barely a wingflap. Something about the bird's manner told me he was gliding out of pleasure, as he orbited back south and repeated his ride. One, two, five, eight times he flew around and around, flapping his way into the strong south currents, then turning right and speeding north in his rapid, eccentric orbit around the building. At some point he decided to break his orbit and ride the current further out north, seemingly satisfied with cathedral windsurfing for the moment, ready to find other things to do.
I turned to the sky; darker clouds had blocked out the sun's shape entirely. I thought of rain but it didn't come, and I just looked at the steady migration of the clouds out west, with no more destination than the path itself. Even with the grass on the back of my head, the smell of wet earth was not rich anymore, and for a moment I imagined a few drops falling again and that brown mist feeding into my lungs. Lighter clouds came later on, and the sun gradually appeared: a steady hazy white patch between the clouds, slowly brighter and rounder, until a definite circle contrasted between the gray clouds, as if waking up from his nap, ready to again oversee the forces and motions of the sky. A band of birds just like the first one flew to the cathedral from the north, flapping their wings. Then a lone one flew in the same direction but farther up and out, and I had the feeling that this last one was the first glider I saw.
Then after tinkering with thoughts of bugs in my hair and the persistence of this peaceful scene in my mind, I stood up and walked back to my apartment. I noticed the shape of a pine-like shrub beside Mellon College, and I saw a clear fractal in the thinner, greener leaves. A green, leafy, pointy bud of a certain length - split it in half from its tip, and from its insides let children buds grow, each of the same length or shorter. Either one, two, or three buds grow from their parent and rise up, often farther up to continue the fractal pattern. If two or three grow high, these branch out in different directions. And voilà, a pine-like shrub. After this consideration, I walked the last three blocks back home.
I'm glad I walked out when I saw the rain fall.
The first thing I noticed was the smell of the air - deep and rich, the smell of the first water drops on earth. It smelled of moist grass, dripping leaves of deep green, and of an invisible layer of brown mist rising from the earth, thankful for the rain. I looked up at the sun through the shiny white clouds, hoping to discern the spectrum colors; instead I saw clear and sunny rain.
I breathed in deep as I walked down Craig St, because through each inbreath I felt all those smells tingling and awakening me inside, as if my lungs were being cleaned with the musky, mint-like aroma. The smell felt deeper when I passed the sidewalk trees, neatly centered on their square patches of earth, so I decided to go to where the smell would be strongest - the grassy area next to Heinz Chapel. I turned right on Winthrop and walked on, filling my lungs and syncing my breaths with the earth patches on the sidewalk.
The rain stopped as I walked, as if it carefully rationed the freshness for the day. But one block ahead, I saw a stream of water drops still falling onto the sidewalk corner. I looked up, and I saw the drops fall off a small building pipe on the fifth floor, late remnants of the recent falls. The drops fell one by one in neat sparkly spheres, and they seemed to almost glide down when approaching the ground, their acceleration cut short by the dense, humid air.
Looking up, I let one fall into my mouth. I realized that it was not that hard to achieve, and I caught a later one too. Happily engaged in a new game, I remained on that corner, catching water drops with my tongue, nose, face, and hands until the drops shrunk to a breeze-like size, harder to see, and much farther-flying due to wind. Each drop in my mouth was a success, each drop on my face was a refreshing delight, and watching the little pearl-like spheres fly their way down like excited fairies was a novel picture to me. I made a mental note to come to this place after later rainfalls, and resumed my walk to Heinz Chapel.
Once there, I anxiously sniffed the plants and the ground, but the smell had already diluted into the blank air. The trace of grassy mint was there if I brought my nose close to the earth, but the full and rich smell had passed. I walked into the park and sat on the grass between three trees. I could smell grass, earth, and trees, but the smell was a dry one - I could tell that the trees above had roofed the earth below, and I was sitting on a patch of grass almost untouched by the rain.
So I moved to an open space of grass, and lay down, face to the sky. The sun was clouded but visible, the sky was covered with stark grey clouds, a few hints of blue streaks sneaking between their silver linings. As I watched them, the clouds gently but surely floated on towards the East, bringing heavier clouds that hid the sun's circle for a good ten minutes.
I turned my head to the left, and I saw Heinz Chapel, that peaky monument to gray symmetry and beauty. Thinking ahead onto my drawing, I looked at the building and focused on its noteworthy traits - proportions, levels, colors, ornamentation details. I then turned my head right and up - the Cathedral of Learning stood up tall, 42 stories of massive, piles of rock stacked over piles of rocks, a monument to size and to persistence. Near the top of the building, a lone bird took off from the ledge and glided around the building, visibly sensing and catching the wind currents, toying with them. He slowed down as he flew south, then the wind stopped him so that he remained still in midair, wings wide open, in dynamic equilibrium between the windforce and whatever magic his graceful body allowed him to exert. Then he dodged off and rounded the cathedral on the west side, catching a wind current on his way. He smoothly speeded from a standstill to slingshot speed, riding the windwave out to well on the other side with barely a wingflap. Something about the bird's manner told me he was gliding out of pleasure, as he orbited back south and repeated his ride. One, two, five, eight times he flew around and around, flapping his way into the strong south currents, then turning right and speeding north in his rapid, eccentric orbit around the building. At some point he decided to break his orbit and ride the current further out north, seemingly satisfied with cathedral windsurfing for the moment, ready to find other things to do.
I turned to the sky; darker clouds had blocked out the sun's shape entirely. I thought of rain but it didn't come, and I just looked at the steady migration of the clouds out west, with no more destination than the path itself. Even with the grass on the back of my head, the smell of wet earth was not rich anymore, and for a moment I imagined a few drops falling again and that brown mist feeding into my lungs. Lighter clouds came later on, and the sun gradually appeared: a steady hazy white patch between the clouds, slowly brighter and rounder, until a definite circle contrasted between the gray clouds, as if waking up from his nap, ready to again oversee the forces and motions of the sky. A band of birds just like the first one flew to the cathedral from the north, flapping their wings. Then a lone one flew in the same direction but farther up and out, and I had the feeling that this last one was the first glider I saw.
Then after tinkering with thoughts of bugs in my hair and the persistence of this peaceful scene in my mind, I stood up and walked back to my apartment. I noticed the shape of a pine-like shrub beside Mellon College, and I saw a clear fractal in the thinner, greener leaves. A green, leafy, pointy bud of a certain length - split it in half from its tip, and from its insides let children buds grow, each of the same length or shorter. Either one, two, or three buds grow from their parent and rise up, often farther up to continue the fractal pattern. If two or three grow high, these branch out in different directions. And voilà, a pine-like shrub. After this consideration, I walked the last three blocks back home.
I'm glad I walked out when I saw the rain fall.
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