All gray, all wet, the pane spotted with rain, gusts of wind roaring and diving around hills and buildings like invisible, giant, avenging angels. The green treetops just over the roofs nearby thrash and pitch. Thunder rumbles and scrapes (never bangs) overhead. Not many cars are visible on the rising slope of our street blocks away, and the ones approaching have their headlights on, even though its just half past noon. That road, as always during storms, vanishes at its summit into gray nothingness. The Golden Gate Bridge and the Marin headlands have been erased.

Have our reservoirs been replenished?

Whether or not the drought is actually over, rain is no longer a novelty.