Notes for a sketch of the Bay Area in the ethereal week between Christmas and New Year’s Day:
It was graying, though dry, as my plane landed at SFO yesterday morning; driving home from the airport, I heard several warnings of possible flash-flooding later in the day. Patches of lighter cloud still stretched across the sky as I headed to work after dropping off my luggage and checking in on the cats, but you could see darker bands moving in from the southwest.
At some point during the day, while I banged out code in my cubicle, the promised downpour arrived. It slackened a bit come mid-afternoon, and I took advantage of the lull to venture out in search of a late lunch. I thought, as I did so, of Holly: the smell of wet concrete in my nostrils, something we discovered early on held special significance for us both, and the warm, reassuring weight of my hooded felt jacket, a typically tasteful gift from her, would have made it hard not to. I can’t say that I even pretended to try.
The rain gradually gave over to wind as night fell. This morning, I woke to the sound of swaying trees sighing, and found myself, as I drove to work, feeling like a canoeist in rapids, fighting capricious currents to keep my course. I arrived none the worse for wear; still the gusts, undaunted, made one last try for me as I approached the building entrance, forcing me to wrestle them for control of the door.
Nonetheless, it’s a beautiful day, bright and clear. Say what you will about the wind, it’s scoured the skies nearly clean of clouds, and the air of haze. The hills are sharp in the distance, their slopes greening in the wake of the rain.
It could all change tomorrow, of course, but at the moment it feels almost like spring is just around the corner. Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but I can’t shake the suspicion that 2007 is going to be an interesting year.