This week brings the first (long-awaited) storms to Northern California. Last night, I fitfully slept as the wind roared. Today, the air is heavy with the metallics of wet gravel, the stinky mustiness of soaked earth. My senses feel reawakened, as if lifted from urban hibernation by the smelling salts of heady nature.
These are not the scents of spring: the pollen from blossoms, the freshness of sprouts emerging from the warming soil.
The groundhog should not watch for his shadow, but rather smell the air. I think this winter remains, although it arrived late and arrived mildly.
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