This morning, my drive up the river canyon to the association’s office in El Portal resembled an excursion in the high country. A winter storm left the hills frosted in snow, a rare event at 1,800 feet elevation. I enjoy my daily commute winding along the river and in between the hills, observing the character of the region as it changes, sometimes subtly, sometime significantly, with the weather. Today the hills were in a preening, boastful mood, proud of their new white coat.
Yesterday the snow began in the afternoon, following a burst of wind that came up as suddenly as an ocean squall. Our sunshade gazebo that covered our picnic tables blew down, and we eyed the bending trees surrounding our office with alarm. After the wind calmed, the snow began to fall, large feather-like flakes that made it appear as if the gods were having a pillow fight above and we were witnessing the carnage.