There is a gauge secured somewhere at Lindberg Field (San Diego's relatively small but functional airport) that performs as the official rainfall measurement thingee for "America's finest city". For 182 consecutive days no measurable precipitation was recorded by said gauge...a new record (breaking a record set just last year.)
(Not many people live in the general area of the airport, of course, so the gauge doesn't do that good a job of measuring rainfall where people really live, work, play, and vegetate...but that's where they chose to put it and thus that is where the city's official rainfall is recorded.)
And on the 183rd day, the heavens opened and the rain began to fall...in showers, in sheets, in cleansing, healing, dancing downpours scrubbing the streets and skies and souls of the good folk of the city.
And more rain...the TV weathermen with their computers and their calculations...is supposedly on the way in the form of another, more powerful and blustery, storm ambling down from the north. And the grasses and flowers and trees say "bring it on". And the dusty hills and parched highways and byways say "bring it on".
And the people...fond of their clear,warm, azure skies but not unwelcoming of the sparkling, rejuvenating cleansing that rainstorms leave in their wake...listen to the rhythm of the falling rain and smile and say "bring it on".
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