It sounds like it’s raining rocks outside, but it looks like it’s snowing. The kittens and I, equally unnerved, peer out of the window, amazed. I run out to take a picture and slide around on the windy porch in a mixture of hail and melted hail, pointing the camera towards the street. Pink petals fly from the camellia bush as I click away, then dash inside. My hair is full of hail, and for the next half hour, I feel it slowly melt, as the hail melts outside, too. Gone as if it never happened.
This is the coldest winter I can remember in California. There was the hailstorm. Temperatures have dipped to the freezing mark; there is snow in the mountains. The house is drafty and hard to heat. I’m already dreading my gas and electricity bill this month.
I have propped open the back porch door so Henry the stray cat can come in out of the rain and cold. He has a blanket on the little couch there, and I can see him from my desk. The kittens watch him raptly, as if he were a TV. He ignores them.
The traffic was nowhere near as bad as it was going up, though it slowed to a crawl on the Richmond-San Rafael bridge, giving me the opportunity to admire the dreaming spires of San Francisco.
When I came in the door, the kittens ran up to greet me. I missed them so much! It’s good to be home.