D.O.P.-T.

At lunchtime, the sun was shining on a drenched world. Droplets twinkled as the breeze shook them loose. Leaves from the hornbeams in the street were scattered over the lawn and the driveway, and two oranges had blown down from the tree. And I see we—or at any rate Los Altos, where they have their weather station—have now had exactly twice as much rain this season as in January through March. Or possibly all last winter, I can't find a place to check stats for the last water year.

Eighth night of Yule

As the pink sunset faded behind grey clouds, after a small rain shower, I blóted Skaði, Wulþor/Ullr, Rind, and Háma/Heimdallr in the back yard with the first of a bottle of zinfandel.