A Rainy Day

It doesn’t rain very much in Southern California but when it does it rains a lot. Little puddles become lakes and the streets become rivers. Every time I hit the road my tires hydroplane and when the water pelts down on my windshield, I can’t see more than a few inches past my car.

Yet, I still love the rain. Whenever it’s chilly I have fun picking out long sleeve shirt to wear. I guess to much of anything is a bad thing because at the beginning of the summer the shedding of layers was celebrated. Now, I’m ready for real winter weather. My parents like to stay that Oregon and California have reverse weather, nine months of rain and three of sun versus nine months of sun and three of rain but I disagree, it does not rain for three months here. A periodic rainy weekend somewhere from December to February is not equivalent to three months of rain.

My wish on rainy days is that something green might grow. It never comes true. Of course thanks to an abundance of local sprinklers, Claremont is green but the mountains are brown and seemingly devoid of life. It’s a wildfire waiting to happen. Where the wildfires have already struck, the black ash remains.

If you lived by the ocean, the sparkling blue water, tall palm trees and shimmering sand would distract you from the hills but I don’t live by the ocean. I live in Claremont and I see the brown.

I’ll enjoy the rain while it lasts. A reminder of my old home.