I hear rain on the roof for the second night in a row.
I guess I need to eat the words I wrote recently in a reply to a comment, something like “I don’t expect it to rain soon, here in the desert.” The rain is a surprise.
The raindrops are like sparrow feet dancing on our roof. I listen for maybe an hour before falling back to sleep.
I know I’m at peace when the days run together.
One afternoon — I don’t remember which day — the rain appears like a timid guest lightly tapping hello, then with a sudden personality change, becomes bitter cold and determined, pelting the desert sand and rocks, and rapping on the roof above us.
What a change after such warm and sunny days!
I prop myself up with pillows to watch out the window. Bridget and Spike crawl under the quilt alongside me, my snuggly-warm, little heaters.
Outside, to the west, dark clouds shroud the sharp peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Shadows creep over the steep, grey, granite slopes. As I’m thinking what a strange and fascinating place this is, it starts to hail! A little larger than pea-sized, the hail bounces off the boulders onto our blue patio mat, and dots the sand all around.
The next morning all is calm again.
The crew and I step out to soak up the sunshine and observe the world around us, our daily ritual. The dark clouds are gone from the mountain peaks, replaced by a drape of fluffy cumuli.
Bridget and Spike commence their rounds from bush to boulder to bush, etc. while I fire up the percolator. Shortly I join them with coffee mug in hand. I wander around the BLT and look to the west. The clouds have lifted, revealing a dazzling luminescence from the mountains — snow!
The crew and I walk down the sandy lane from our campsite.
We follow the road as it winds through massive piles of boulders until we reach a popular spot for viewing the unique landscape of the Alabama Hills. No one is here this early, except a raptor way above us at the top of the rocks. He briefly arcs his neck to eye us down below and then resumes facing east into the warmth of the morning sun.
Oh, the photos I could have taken! I hope the camera arrives today at the Lone Pine P.O.!