Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California, August 16, 2020

San Francisco never, ever gets rain in August and thunderstorms are a real rarity any time of year. Yet here we are, lightening across the sky and thunder rumbling for a good twelve hours, leaving at least a few raindrops lingering in the hibiscus bud just off our deck.

Below, I see the bricks are wet, the chair cushions soaked, and the garden watered at least a little bit without the summer hose. Strange times. In the midwest, such a storm would break up a heat wave and turn the air soft and cool. Here, we’re told to expect the temperatures to rise again toward record-breaking as soon as this once-in-fifty years storm recedes. Fingers crossed, the last lightening strike will not kindle something like the ‘fire tornado,’ that sprang up yesterday a few hours to the north. ’So what’s next?’ John laments as he checks the forecast and pandemic news. ‘Time for the locusts yet?’

Maybe. But I am feeling luckier today, at least. For the first time in months I woke up this morning without a sense of dread - my first surgery is behind me, I’m back home without, it appears, having caught the virus in the hospital, and, with the Democratic convention starting this week I feel a little ray of hope that maybe, just maybe our democracy can be saved as we manage to weather this storm together.