Rain, rain; I still haven’t grown tired of it. The chill in the air, the bands of rain hissing downward toward the ocean, and the drum beat of the rain on the roof. The pier is closed here. Fools were standing out on the end with waves battering the concrete and wood while drenching them. We hope that only strong ocean swimmers still surf.
Homeless are washed away down the local rivers away from their encampments. They usually can’t swim. All roads that cross the rivers and streams from the border up are guarded by someone….often guards on the river rescue team. Captain Poolie has some wonderful river flood photos on her blog here.
“Oh, the plastic is nice and tight,” said one homeless man of his river bottom home to a TV interviewer. There are encampments not only on the river’s edge, but they live in the middle of freeways, in canyons and valleys, in doorways guarded by sandbags, and scattered under overpasses through out the city. Usually the homeless here last only two years. Even if they are fed and have minimal shelter, two years is maximum.
My once homeless daughter is packing to go north to her fire classes. A very few of us survive being homeless, she did. I can’t tell you how proud of her we are.