During the long, hot, dry, fire-infested months of summer here in Sacramento, it’s hard to believe that rain has ever fallen—and, indeed, will someday fall again. But here we are in the rainy season, with steady downpours from mid-morning through the evening. Everything is lush and green; as we drove to San Francisco this weekend, we marveled at the verdant green hills, the vibrant farmland. In just a few months, those hills and that farmland will be a parched golden brown, and instead of skies gray with clouds we’ll have skies full of ash and smoke from wild fires.
For now, though, I’ll enjoy the sound of rain on the rooftops and sidewalks, the cozy feeling of security that comes from being warm and dry, out of the elements. It’s not a snowstorm, alas, at least not here—but snow is falling in the mountains, and perhaps this will be the weekend we finally get up to enjoy Lake Tahoe in winter. We shall see.