… but I can hardly get myself to look out the window at it. It’s because I know this rain means nothing in this fourth (and now critical) year of drought. It can’t help us. It won’t fill the reservoirs to brimming again, even if it rains for days in the valley and snows in the mountains. It’s too little, too late. It’s a mean tease, like a couple of older kids who ask you to play ball with them, put you in the middle, then throw the ball to each other over your head, higher than you can reach even when you jump. You want to like playing with them, but they only frustrate you and make you feel inadequate and stupid, and in the end you just can’t.
That’s spring rain in California during a drought.
I’ll tell you about this stupid little rain. The parking lot pavement got wet and shiny black, and there are a few thin puddles. Water is beading on the metal hand-railings by the steps and on the on the leaves of the hedge gardenias outside the door. I don’t want to like this, because it’s too much like giving in, but the scent rising from the wadded-up little ivory flowers is sweet and heavy, but fresh, too. The beads of water form translucent pearls on the little dark green, blade-shaped leaves of the potted azalea on the back patio. The old fence is wet halfway down, contrasting dark above with light below. The traffic-y air smells washed and clean. There’s a sharp little breeze.
They say we’ll have some more rain tomorrow. It’s an awful tease, but I hope we do.
This is Day One of Writing 101: Building a Blogging Habit, WordPress’s free, 20-day writing course for bloggers. The assignment was simply to write for 20 minutes without preparing first, then posting it to my blog. I’ll be writing something new each day, following Writing 101’s prompts. I’m excited to see what shows up.