It's been raining off and on in LA for the last 10 days or so (it's pretty much the same in Riverside). The days are mostly overcast and it gets very chilly by 6 pm. Goodbye summer dresses, hello hoodies and sweatshirts and (I say this with a lot of distaste) uggs.
People don't realize LA can be like this. They are used to the Los Angeles so deftly exploited and marketed by movies and TV shows and postcards. Sun, rum and fun, eh?
Most don't like this weather. Too dreary and miserable, they say.
I love it.
It rains a lot of India and I remember the fresh smell of the earth, the vibrant green of the leaves and the perfectly spherical drops of rain water slithering down window panes right after a spell of healthy rain. The rain here is a bit different, of course. More reserved and moody, I feel. The clouds seem to hold back: when it rains, it drips. And yet I find this rain irresistible. Rainy days make me contemplative. There is something profound about the gray hue of the sky - like a Beethoven piano sonata or a Hemingway short story.
The soft pitter-patter of rain drops on polyester umbrellas, the slish-slosh of shoes in micropuddles, the slick shiny sheen of the roads - what is there not to love? Absolutely divine.