Atmospheric River

I leapt across the sinkhole along Leona Canyon, the place where I hike past Bay Laurel Trees and buckeyes, a stream now subdividing the pathway into gravel and soggy leaves, a plume of subtropic water, forecasted days ago on as newscasters simulated cars stuck beneath freeways, power outages and people drowning; if it wasn’t so dangerous maybe we’d have fun, after years of drought and the depletion of reservoirs, blast horns to welcome the atmospheric river sweeping around us like an animation from Walt Disney’s Fantasia,  dance on the hood of a flooded car in memory of whomever drove it into a ditch. But it wasn’t raining when I went out.  Nor when I drove to the Toyota dealership on Hegenberger to replace the battery in my key remote, people in the customer service area watching TV and waiting; sorry is a word from the Old English sarig meaning distressed, grieved, full of sorrow. Point is, I didn’t care how wet I got.