The wonderful way you feel when you’re out on a lake… in a boat… and you can, at once, see and fear the angry wall in the distance, and can guess how soon you’ll meet. It’s not raining, then it’s a squall…and a one so loud that you cannot hear much else…so wet that nothing’s dry, so complete that the violence of the sails is mute. It doesn’t rain in San Francisco like that very often. I’m especially pleased to welcome it today.
I’d really begun to mourn all the rainy, cold, wet winters that would never grace us in Northern California again… so wonderful to be wrong.
