Most likely there will be an explosion of camellias outside my window and, should the warming trend continue, various other plants will decide that it's time to bloom. Then, once they've bloomed, we'll get one of those February freezes and it will kill everything. But none of this matters anyway if it doesn't eventually rain. Everything will die of dehydration, and by summer we'll have water rationing imposed as the level of the reservoir declines. I don't relish the prospect of an autumn in which the house fills with the stench of chlorine every time a tap is turned on.
And all we get in return for this unseasonable aridity is plenty of sunshine, most of which I miss as I'm sleeping through the days. Just as well, I suppose. Outside on winter days, I feel the vacancy of cloudless sky as though it were my reflection. I need a time of grayness.
Come to think of it, I didn't hear as many flocks of migrating waterfowl fly south this year as I usually do. I wonder if they knew that California was going to dry out this year? I wonder where they went instead? I wonder if I could have gone with them?