Oh, Vancouver. I love you in the sun.

Even when my apartment is an oven of Dutch proportions, even when butterflies chase me like wobbly assassins around my living room, even when you melt the ice in my latte like a city-sized blow dryer, even when awkwardly shirtless men bellow “HEY, WHAT’S UP?” on street corners, even when I’m blinking like a mole for hours trying to adjust to the magic of it all.

You bring fat, bloomy lilacs, just off the deck. You cause freckles in spades. You make me paint my fingernails this colour, and my toes this colour. You create an appetite for fresh things, crisp things, bright things, lovely things — an optimism and delight that still occurs in the rain, but much more, well… damply so.

The showers will come again soon, I’m sure. But for now?

Bliss.