Memoir of a misty Portland morning

It is a misty gray morning here, with a dark cloudy sky where the sunshine barely streams through the thick clouds. It makes me miss Portland, where the constant drizzle eventually fades into the background of your consciousness and you barely notice your damp face and the wet blades of grass that stick to your shoes as you cross the lawn. Some days it would rain every day for a week and just when you start thinking you will never see the sun again, there would be a break in the clouds, and a shaft of sunlight would peak through. I think it rained the entire winter when I lived there. They say that if you can survive the first three rainy winters then you have acclimated and can continue living there with no problem. I decided after two months of straight rain that I could never go that long without sunshine again. The air would be so thick with moisture that it was hard for me to breathe at first, I felt so suffocated. The wet cold air would soak its way through any layers you had attempted to block it with, and send a chill through to your bones. I felt as though I would never get warm again, even into March and April I was still freezing. The smell of rain was a constant companion, and even now I can't help but think of Portland when it rains here. Each morning as I walked to work, I would splash through the puddles as if they didn't even exist, through the mud of the abandoned lot, across the road, past the bus station, through parking lots, and under the bridge before arriving at my destination, hot and cold at the same time, and always wet.