After nine years, I’ve grown accustomed to the short periods when the weather, as in not sunny and hot, asserts itself in the desert. In the summer, it’s monsoons, windstorms followed by thunderstorms, both of which are breathtaking displays of nature’s brute force. There are monsoons in the winter, too, but these usually entail a couple weeks of intermittent showers, interspersed by our usual bright, sunny, warm weather, so after it was drizzly on Monday (the whole day, which is novel in and of itself), everyone scoffed at the fact that the weather forecasters actually thought it could rain for another four days.
The crazy thing? It did. That picture was taken Wednesday, from under the cover of an umbrella. I don’t know why the sky looks bright–I assure you, it was most definitely raining. Note the puddles. It rained *all* day, and crazier still, it was cold. Not cold as anyone who has lived in the Midwest or Northeast knows cold, but by jove, it dropped below fifty during the day. Fifty! It rained through the night and into Thursday morning, and I got to pull my coat out, it was cold enough. After a big blow Thursday night, we thought it couldn’t possibly rain again Friday. The blow is what usually finishes off our storms. But no, Friday, it was raining again, and not only did I wear my coat, I wore my Tweed Beret, Diamond scarf, and my Fetching mitts, too. Over a *sweater*.
I really don’t know if things get any better than that.