In Vancouver, it is not the sudden drop in temperature that announces the arrival of winter, but the long, unbroken stretch of rainy days that, once begun, seems to have no intention of leaving.
Unlike the summer rain, which comes with force and stops abruptly, the early winter rain is gentle yet unrelenting—an omnipresence that permeates every cubic inch of air. There seem to be no raindrops at all, only a fine‑knit web of moisture drifting with the wind, blurring distant mountains and nearby trees into a gray ink‑wash painting. The grayish air, saturated with water, hangs heavy with the crisp, slightly cool scent of humus and rain‑soaked pine needles.
The asphalt on the streets deepens to a darker gray, like sheets of Chinese painting paper, with the light of sky and cloud as its backdrop and the hazy, shifting reflections of buildings and trees forming picturesque scenes.
In winter, darkness envelopes the city early, pushing night forward to as early as five in the afternoon. One by one, the city lights flicker on, and the rain shifts from solemn gray to beguiling color. Red, yellow, and white lights are softened by the rain, stretched in the darkness, and scattered by watery reflections, turning smooth, mirror‑like puddles into fragments of shattered, resplendent galaxies. As car headlights pass, they carve through the darkness with fleeting golden ripples amid rivers of sparkling light.
In the winter rain, Vancouver sheds the brightness and flamboyance of sunny days and becomes a tired beauty without makeup—detached and lonely. Yet within this boundless dampness, the city turns tender and contemplative.
Umbrellas become extensions of the body, and footsteps take on a slightly more purposeful haste.
As buses move through the rain, their windows glaze over with a thin mist, turning the warm interior lights and human silhouettes into impressionist paintings. Restaurants seem more crowded; through their windows, white steam and shifting figures create scenes of inviting warmth in sharp contrast to the cold, wet streets outside. The rustling of rain on rooftops is the day’s constant background sound; at night, it turns into a monotonous yet peaceful lullaby that lulls people to sleep.
Wrapped in pervasive dampness, life does not disappear; it simply adopts an inward, subdued state, lying dormant in preparation for future growth. Autumn dyes the maple leaves red, and the winter breeze then plucks them from the branches, spreading them as a thick carpet on the ground, to which the fine rain adds a glossy sheen. The lawns remain stubbornly green, and the pine needles, washed by rain, glow with the deepest shade of their green. In sheltered corners, cold‑hardy camellias stand quietly in the rain, waiting for the moment to bloom.
The winter rain soaks clothes and shoes and slows people’s pace; even the flow of time itself seems dragged into a slower rhythm. It wraps heaven and earth in a transparent crystal dome, shutting out the clamor and compelling people to look inward and reflect. The rainy season is contemplative and calm, nourishing a moist tranquility as the city moves quietly into winter.
PS: This article was written on Oct. 24, 2025 which was my mother’s 85th birthday. I dedicate this short piece to for her good health and longevity.
港燦在溫哥華之五 雨
溫哥華由深秋過渡到初冬的標誌，不是氣溫計上驟降的數字，而是一場來了便彷彿不再打算離開的雨。
它不像夏季的雨，來得暴烈，去得也乾脆；溫哥華初冬的雨，是一種彌漫在每一立方空氣裡的無所不在。它是矜持的，細如牛毛，隨風飄灑，將遠山近樹暈染成一片水墨的灰濛。空氣也似乎吸飽了水份，沉甸甸的，帶著腐殖土與濕透的松針那清冽而微涼的氣息。
街道上，柏油路面的顏色變得深沉，像吸墨的宣紙，將天光雲影都收納進去，映出兩旁建築與樹木朦朧的、流動的倒影。
不到下午五時，夜幕已提早垂落，城市的燈火逐一亮起，雨便顯露出它最為魅惑的容顏。那些紅的、黃的、白的燈光，全被雨水濡濕、拉長、打散，在平滑如鏡的積水窪裡，流淌成一片片破碎而璀璨的星河。車燈劃過，便在這星河裡犁出一道道轉瞬即逝的金色波痕。
此時的溫哥華，褪去了晴日下的明媚與張揚，像一個卸了妝的倦美人，顯露出幾分清寂，幾分疏離，卻又在這無邊的濕潤裡，滋長出一種內向的、沉思的溫情。
傘，成了人們手臂的延伸。步伐不再悠閒，多了些許目的明確的匆促。
巴士車窗玻璃上，總蒙著一層薄薄的水氣，將車廂內溫暖的燈光與人影，暈染成印象派的畫作。餐館的生意似乎也好了起來，隔窗望去，氤氳著白霧，人影幢幢，成了濕冷世界裡一個個誘人的、溫暖的標點。雨水敲打屋頂的沙沙聲，成了白日最恆定的背景音；到了夜裡，則化作催人入眠的、單調而安詳的搖籃曲。
在這彷彿無休止的濕潤包裹中，生命並未褪色，只是換了一種更為沉潛的方式。微風把紅透的楓葉都摘了下了，在地面鋪上了一層厚厚的地毯，細雨再給其加上一抹亮澤。草地依舊是執拗的綠，松針葉被雨水洗刷，綠得幾乎要滴下汁來。城市角落裡，耐寒的山茶已然鼓出飽滿的花苞，在雨中靜靜等待綻放的時機。
雨，固然濡濕了衣襪，拖慢了行程，卻也彷彿將時間的流速調緩了。它將天地籠進一個透明的水晶罩裡，隔絕了喧囂教人不得不向內審視，與自己的思緒相處。於是，這雨季的溫哥華，成了一座巨大的、流動的禪院。它在窗外淅淅瀝瀝的低語裡，供養著一種潮潤的靜謐，與一種在灰度中辨認細微光影的、安寧的敏感。
另：今日是母親85歲生日，僅以此文祝母親大人健康長壽。
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