Saturday the rain blew-in off the prairie and ascended the hills until it reached the Low Mountain Redoubt – and then it poured down. Watching it arrive was interesting. First the far-far distance was occluded and the plains hidden by clouds, then the dark gray mass grew bigger and closer and the first line of low hills disappeared in a gray veil of rain, then the second, and finally the golf-course – and then IT arrived.
Our drive-way warps this way and that, and funneled the runoff into a living French drain of sorts, a stream-bed that wraps around the house, and I stood with the garage doors open watching it pelt down until the gray sky all around lit up with a thousand light-bulbs, and a gigantic crack of thunder made me hop out of my skin. Woot!
Sunday dawned cold and clear, and the airplanes were all abuzz and aflight. Giddy with fresh clean air, the dirt and dust and smoke from the fires damped-down, they flew with abandon. Two old war-trainers came over low – T-6 Texans I believe – wingtip-to-wingtip, they were close. We live in the flightpath, it’s neat.
Today, back in the Sargasso Suburban Sea, I stopped by in the morning to see how Dad’s pergola project was going – almost complete! Overhead a big jetliner on the SFO flightpath changed gears and down-shifted – or whatever they do when they drop the flap and slow. You can hear the engine pitch change as they turn and gyrate above. There’s a lot of big air-traffic in the Bay Area, not to mention the Air National Guard C-130’s and other occasional Mil. stuff that flies out of Moffett Field — and at lunchtime I happened to look up again when I heard more aerial gearshifting, and saw a big plane turning out towards the coast with 787 boldly printed in giant letters on the side – so they finally got that thing running too.