Rain's pummeling the L.A. West side at the moment. I hear the low steady rumble of the downpour swell and recede on the flatness of roof tops and the rolling roar of a thousand car roof timpani, intermixed with a few light pings of droplets hitting odd objects left on the street, and the occasional sliding swish of tires carving out paths through puddles. Rain like this is quite exotic in these here parts. Great time for my heat to quit working. The air is wet AND cold. A whole lotta blech, I say.
It's one of those nights where going out doesn't seem like such a fantastic idea, kind of like how being snowed in was back in St. Louis. It's winter, we often forget here because most days are bright and t-shirty, where breaking a sweat in one's car in January is not unheard of. People actually get sick of sunshine if they've been accustomed to it every day. I haven't hit that point yet. Sunshine and moderate temps are a beautiful thing.
Still, this skyburst's rather relaxing, and the tiny rumble of thunder reminded me of lying quietly in bed as a kid in the Midwest, while the rain washed everything and made the next day fresh for everyone. I remember how bright those colors were against the slate blue cloudy backdrop--the leaves, flowers, trees and grass. We don't get that sort of "pop" here, that electric look to the foliage, even after rain. No neon green sprouts or shocking pink or purple blooms. Everything here after a rain just kind of looks soggy like, "Thank you for the water, but we really don't need it that much." Sure things grow better after the rain, but the vitality just isn't there. Too much smog, perhaps?
Even the rain here is "SO L.A." I suppose. But it's nice to have, every once in a while.
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