We don’t get much wet in this rescued desert so days like today come with the hazard of flash floods, mudslides and tornados. All of which the MAGA minions will blame on our Gov. Gavin Newsom. So far, the deluge hasn't lived up to the rumor.
Ironic, that Texas is parched with many houses sinking
because of the lowered water table. There might be a metaphor in all this but
it eludes me. Gov. Abbott and his gerrymandered oilmen disallow any mention of
climate change, even as they argue whether to build desalination plants. And if one or two know better, there is the silence of spineless.
When I was a kid, shortly after the fall of the Roman
Empire, weather wasn’t a topic for discussion, except for cancelled picnics and
rained-out ballgames. It was a minor bother, not a cause for evacuation. I
wonder what in thunderation we did to foul the air we breathe and carbonize the
firmament to the danger point. We now have hundred-year hurricanes, fires, droughts
and storms every 2-3 years. Weather has become a hot potato.
I want to turn to kinder thoughts about rain since someday I may be a flower with my throat open eager to be quenched. Umbrellas are flowers sprouting as seen from above. Renoir's palette captures Parisians, like a garden unfurled. Or Hiroshige's people hurrying across a bridge under fine lines of a sudden shower. Are those umbrellas or parasols?
I'm looking outside at some droplets on a leaf. They look like the pearl earrings Vermeer lit. I'm remembering the wet cobblestones in Delft and how we sloshed our way to the closest bruin cafe.
Come on sky, let it go! End the fire season emphatically. I want to see Gene Kelly splashing. I’m thinking puddles. Where are you Ethel Waters, Gale Storm and Claude Rains? Go ahead, rain on my parade.
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