When I drove up the 405 this morning, the clouds had parted and patterns of light and shade danced across the asphalt and the hills. I merged onto the freeway, fought my way clear of the 405-10 interchange, and looked up to see the Getty, gleaming white in a pool of sunlight.
This, I realized, is one of the reasons that I love the rain. When it passes, the air is clean, and the light shines from the towering clouds and the wet streets. It leaves the sky a rare and special shade of blue. And here, in a desert that’s suffered years of drought, the earth drinks so deep that the cacti look out of place against the brilliant green that surrounds them.
There are a lot of pictures of the destruction these storms have brought – the beach erosion and mudslides – but the image I’ll cherish is that white citadel basking in the sun, set off like a jewel against emerald velvet. I passed under a bridge, and when I emerged, the clouds had shifted and the vision was gone. I’m writing it down so I never forget.
