The last two nights we have had heavy rain and wind, so that I have waked several times when I hear the rain at the window. It always makes me think of the verse of "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief" that begins:
'Twas night; the floods were out, it blew
A winter hurricane aloof.
There are a lot of poor wayfaring men of grief here in San Francisco; I hope they have all found somewhere dry to spend the night, and continue to do so. The weather report predicts rain all week.
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