The Art of Wet-Drying & The Paradox of the Periphery

There is no greater coincidence of opposites than cycling through a wet and windy November strath. Here, in the blissful peripherals there is nothing to break the wind, nothing to distort it or tame it. The same applies to the rain: all is open, nothing tempered. And so today, as I was cycling through God's washing machine I was also cycling through God's tumble dryer. As I was getting gently seasoned from above my forward travel into a headwind expedited an air-drying too. And so it was that as I was getting wet I was also getting dried. God bless the paradox of the periphery.

 

Nevertheless, and as much as my poetic license will allow me, by the time I got back to Paisley Canal I was duly drenched. The rain always wins, doesn't it?