It rained last night. The first good, strong rain of the season. Fall has fallen. Last week it was warm bordering on hot. Today I pulled a favorite old sweater out of the bottom drawer and have once again found the joy of wrapping cold hands around a mug of hot tea. It's gray and dreary out, but I welcome this change.
Those who say California has no seasons are wrong. We do. Not, perhaps, as dramatic as the fall colors of New England followed by the deep white snows of winter. But we have our cool fall nights, our rainy winter days, the first, hesitant sunshine of spring, and the glorious heat of summer. I must confess, however, that I do occasionally get fed up with people who move to California, triple the price of houses in my home town, and then complain about how much they miss "real" seasons. If you miss "real" seasons so much, go back to the blizzard and let me buy a damn house!
Oh dear, that gentle musing on the weather turned rather bitchy, didn't it? Well, them's the breaks, folks.