Late Spring in Philadelphia

A late June thunderstorm rolled through the area yesterday while I was at work. By the end of my shift, just the soaked streets and gray clouds remained of what sounded like a very close and powerful storm.

I made the walk home with not a raindrop falling and picked up my yoga mat and then was off to the gym.

After an hour of standing, stretching and breathing, I again made the walk home, but took notice of some subtleties this time around.

The streets were still wet, but with fewer cars; the sounds of tires turning over the blacktop were not one continuous noise.

The gray and deep blue clouds remained, menacing and waiting. Through the wet air the street lamps cast a thick, yellow light over everything.

The light scents of a late spring grew stronger, carried by any mist. Lilacs and other flowers fought with the wet mulch to catch my attention, yet the calm air kept each scent distinct, intoxicating. The chirping of birds seemed to carry each scent to my nose, while scurrying of squirrels shook the trees, releasing tiny drops of rain to fall on the red zigzag that I followed, meanderingly, through buildings 50 and 200 years old.

And so my 12-minute walk home was a rather peaceful one, perhaps complementing or contrasting the lively effects following the storm.

It's times like this that remind me of how much I love Philadelphia, strolling through the most historic square mile in America in the evening after the crush of cars have died down.