“Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold,” Bill recites as we weave through Lucas Valley on the way to Tomales. It’s raining like mad. There are rivulets carving the sides of hills, and rowdy streams alongside that in low spots make a bay of the highway. Scruff from eucalyptus is strewn over the wet asphalt.
The green in these hills is the kind of green you see in western Ireland, lit from within, best appreciated under a heavy gray sky. Drenching amps the kilowattage.
“A long time ago, the world was begun, with hey ho, the wind and the rain…for the rain it raineth every day.”
The rain it hasn’t raineth every day, but a fair share of them. We are over normal, however you interpret that. The gray Volkswagen sprouts wings of water in celebration. “What a great day,” Bill says.
When in the afternoon the rain abates and a thumbprint of blue appears in the gray canvas, it’s almost disappointing.