cold comfort

This morning I awoke in England. 


I could hear the soft patter of rain on the pavement.  The brisk damp rising in the bedroom.  I wondered whether to drive over to Blenheim to walk the palace grounds or down to Abingdon to visit the Huxhams.


And then I came out of my Nyquil fog.


I was still in Villa Obregon.  There was rain, but certainly not the light rain of an Oxfordshire morning.


Felipe and Billie report that the highlands have been under a rainy siege this week.  If you pull up a satellite image, you will see a large purple mass stretching from Denver to Oaxaca.  And a lot of us appear to be getting rain.


In our case, it started Tuesday night.  Thunder.  Lightening.  Wind.  Rain.  All of the elements for a great Wagnerian production.  The entire town was alive with the sound of striking lightening -- enhanced by the utter absence of electricity.


This weather is unusual.  We usually get these Götterdämmerung storms in the summer.  Almost never in the winter.  An occasional shower in February is noteworthy.  But Brünnhilde in the tropical Mexican winter is as uncommon as brie at a NASCAR race.


As a consequence of the rain, most of the restaurants in my neighborhood are closed.  Not surprisingly.  Most are open to the elements.  But the real reason is that very few people are stirring on the streets.  Walking and bicycling are simply a nuisance.


I would bemoan the fact that my head cold has hung on as long as it has -- almost a week now.  But the rain would have limited my planned travels.


So, I stay home.  Listening to Wagner.  Drinking Earl Grey.  Watching the rain fall.


My travels to the highlands may need to wait for another week.