Urban sketching on the Schlossberg-part 2

Clouds hung low in the sky like a layer of limp, damp cotton laid out to dry. the greyish air threatening to rain at any moment. Stifling humidity enveloping me as I walked quickly back toward the house. The weather was damp but not hot, the clammy sort of feeling one gets when walking into a green house in the autumn. Every few hundred meters I glanced at the sky, speculating as to the comfort with which urban sketching could take place less than an hour later. Reaching home I unloaded my purchases, replacing them with a picnic mat, jause box, sketchbook, and paints. 2 weeks ago one of the sketchers had informed me that rather than climb the schlossberg she had taken the train up, being the only commuter on board. I had looked at it on both my outgoing and returning journey, and in both cases it had stood virtually empty, waiting to transport one or two brave souls to the top of the hill. I walked toward it.

The train is divided into three compartments, three travelers (one of them myself) spread out between them and ascended smoothly up the tracks. A few minutes in comparison with 15 to 20, interesting how this virus is making logistics more complicated than they were before. As I stepped out the bell began to toll, and a light breeze stirred the atmosphere, lifting a weight I had been unaware was present.

Have you ever named a meeting place thinking that there could not be a possibility of confusing it with anywhere else in the world only to find out shortly thereafter that several people had done just that? It was with a feeling of slight shock that I looked at my messages at the end of our intimate group sketching hour to realize that I had overlooked other possible interpretations. A few people had turned up elsewhere waiting to meet us. Unfortunately it was too late at that point and I do hope that I have not scared them off for good.

Our planned two sketches turned into one as the thunder increase, rolling and growling its way across the skies. To stay dry for one sketch and then to make it home before the rain seemed like a bit of luck and we parted ways once we had finished. A few solitary drops fell as I entered my street and it was raining as I locked the door behind me. Standing by the window watching the rain fall in sheets later that evening I considered how lucky we were to have been able to meet at all. It rained for the next day and a half.