If it were a normal year, the creeks would have dried up long ago. If it were a normal year, the grass would be brown. It it were a normal year, the rain barrels would be empty.
But the rain barrels are full. And the grass, in mid August, is lush and green. And water is rushing down the creeks.
Today the sky was gray, and threatening clouds rolled low overhead. Rain fell from the sky. The roads were cluttered with clean, shiny cars driven by drivers who didn’t know quite what to make of that glistening stuff on the pavement.
Even now, even as my eyes droop and my fingers betray me at the keyboard, there is thunder booming ever closer in the darkness to the west.
This is has definitely not been a normal year.