I love to watch a storm approach. Friday morning the sky had an ominous red glow on the horizon at dawn, before the clouds turned pinkish orange and the world refused to end. The wind blew for hours, until the clouds were thick and bruised with moisture. Just before noon fat drops began to fall with gusto, and soon it was pouring.

I had the car packed before the rain came, and we drove through the foothills on a drenched highway. As we crossed the valley, we passed muddy ponds where swans fed, their breasts soiled from the suspended muck. Two of them took to the air in graceful unity, in flight despite the weather.

It’s still raining, and the thunder is rolling every so often, even though the weather report said it would stop a few minutes ago. So much for weather reports. Winter has arrived.

My oldest daughter is stuck up north in a foot and a half of snow. I hope she makes it home for Christmas!