Gloom

The Orwell-weather persists. Last night I was driving home from class in a bucket-storm: wipers flailing at top speed, visibility down to nothing-plus, afraid to go faster than 45 mph. And then, just as I turn off the highway and onto the road that leads into my neighborhood, it just stops, like somebody turned off a faucet. The dog nearly died after foolishly trying to tangle with a cottonmouth. Suddenly the desert seems a very appealing clime.