Southern California doesn't have a winter. That part of the year can resemble spring or fall, or even summer, but never winter. This year while several feet of snow covered most of the country we had eighty-plus degree temperatures, sunny skies, and wildfires. The rain arrived at last, and while it won't be enough to end our epic drought, it's better than nothing.
Rain does strange things to L.A. Needless to say, many people forget how to drive, but that's not all. My neighborhood doesn't have storm drains. I recall someone telling me the streets all slant toward the L.A. River and rainwater eventually finds its way there. I have no idea if this is true, but whenever it's raining the streets turn into canals. Especially the intersections. There's much splashing. You don't want to be a pedestrian around here, trust me.
I like the near-constant sunshine—it keeps me sane—but it's nice to have something else for a change. Gloomy weather inspires a cozy melancholy. My plan for the weekend is to stay inside, drink copious amounts of tea and cocoa, and edit. It would be nice to have the second draft of Dead Man and the Army of Frogs done by Monday.