A peaceful winter scene from wallpaperstock.net

The forecast says we might get some rain on Monday. Chances are slim, and even if it does, it would only be a light drizzle.  We don’t get much precipitation here, and as much as I love warmth and sunshine, I really miss summer thunderstorms and winter flurries.

I grew up in Massachusetts and experienced all sorts of weather.  Mark Twain once said “If you don’t like the weather in New England, wait a few minutes.”  He must have known New England well.

I remember warm, summer days bursting into sudden rainstorms, or wet spring mornings that blossomed into hot afternoons. A crisp autumn day could carry snowflakes in its winds and turn into a blinding blizzard by evening.  It was quite unpredictable at times, but that’s what made it so exhilarating.

I was back in Boston a few years ago, in the fall, having dinner outdoors with a friend by the harbor. The night was so clear; there was a slight chill in the air, not cold, but alert. The water was like black glass reflecting the sharp planes of the cityscape and shone bright with the lights of businesses.  Then it rained, unforeseen and fleeting. It was only for a moment, but the heavy drops turned the water into Impressionist paintings and sung through the night as they bounced off different surfaces.  It was beautiful and melodic, and in a way, it made me realize just how raw this world is, that despite all our technologies, buildings and achievements, water still falls from the sky whenever it wants whether we’re ready for it or not, as it has for millennia.

It does rains here in Los Angeles, maybe a total of two weeks out of the year.  Usually it’s just a drizzle, once in a while, a heavy, angry downpour.  It never rains in summer. It never snows. There are no hurricanes or Nor’easters, no April Fools’ Day blizzards. I miss snow the most. It’s been about 10 years since I’ve been in a snowstorm.

I loved it when the storm came at night.  You almost knew it was coming. The night would get quiet, cold and still, then it would come forth, steady and deliberate.  I would fall asleep to the sound of howling wind and rattling branches.  I’d rush to the window as soon as I woke up.

Everything had changed overnight.  The land was white, bright and clean, sparkling and perfect.  Icicles gleamed in the sunshine like jewels and trees became embellished sheets of lace.  It was like waking up to another world, untouched and unmarred.  Again came that feeling of awe at the rawness of nature.

I have friends who still live back there; they hate it when it rains or snows. It makes for a long morning, a messy commute, wet pant legs and slippery sidewalks.  I can’t relate. I was still a kid when I left.  Snow makes me think of lazy days off from school, of rolling snowmen and playing outside until ice crusted on my wool mittens.  If I had stayed, if I were to live in it year after year as they do, would I still long for a snowstorm? I don’t know.

Southern California is hot, dry and sunny. The sky is often clear and bright blue, the sunshine abundant. I love this weather, but sometimes, like tonight, I would love to walk outside and feel the cut of an icy wind as wet snowflakes fall on my face.

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