Giving Thanks For The Rain

The weather was just about perfect for the roam on Sunday, with clear skies and warm sun. There was a sense, sitting on Bernal Heights looking down over the city, that this was the last of the fine weather that has characterised the last couple of months in San Francisco. Out of the sun the temperatures were dropping; this was true also as we sat on the Embarcadero on Monday: I felt bad for coming out without sunblock on, and enjoyed the warm glow on my back as we sat, but by the time I had arrived home later in the afternoon, I felt a little cold.

Rain arrived on Tuesday just as forecast; several showers during the afternoon, and much colder air. I only got rained on during the last leg of the journey home, glad to have made it to BART before a squall started. On Wednesday I was woken early by hail lashing against my window, though it stopped almost as suddenly as it had started. The rest of the day was mostly dry with dramatic clouds, but it was cold and damp enough outside that it reminded me of winter work days at Tassajara.

Speaking of which, I remembered writing about the moment of the rain arriving at Tassajara, and when I went to find the piece, it was exactly a year ago, Thanksgiving week, when the rain came in. I will quote this paragraph again:

“I was reminded of this time of year at Tassajara, sitting in the zendo, and hearing the first rain of the winter falling, first as a distant rustling noise further along the valley, then closer, and then noisily landing on the tin roof of the zendo. There was a tangible feeling of relief in the room – just for the first rain, mind; at other times, especially for those in unheated cabins with no way of getting clothes dry, it could be pretty wearing.”

I am hoping that Thanksgiving morning turns out decent again so I can get another ride in before enjoying a meal with friends and their new puppies.

Last week seemed to early to be putting up Christmas trees, especially with it still so warm.