After stripping down to t-shirts for the last few weeks I'm beginning to worry. Where is the rain? My paper-whites are blooming and even the roses haven't slowed down. The arugula is going to seed after a couple of weeks of life, and the apple trees are threatening to bud.
Where is the rain?
We shouldn't be complaining, I know. But this is our rainy season, a time for snow to pile up on the mountains and flow down in our rivers and creeks in the summer time.
The geese have arrived this week on the lake, waking us up yesterday with their honking. Great big geese, usually here by the end of October, are late and fat and perhaps confused, too. How long will they stay. How much will they find to eat since the farmers have harvested their hay long ago, readying for the rainy season. It is the middle of December, but here on the southern Oregon Coast it feels like spring, with temperatures in the high fifties and sun so warm on our south facing patio that I'm maintaining my summer tan into winter.
It is hard to think of Christmas, and spruce trees, and garlands of evergreen perfuming the house. We don't get enough of summer, out here. This feels good; but weird, and abnormal. It ought to rain big time by now. Last year, in early December, we had a major storm that lasted days, and brought major havoc. What's happening out there?
Who's got our rain?