As I walked to my sister's earlier today, the damp air reminded me of the value of multiple layers of clothing. Not something I generally think of in Northern California - even in the (shallow) depth of Winter.
And certainly not in May.
Ahead of me a cat, looking for all the world like it was wearing white slippers on all four feet and a long midnight black robe, paused in mid-step to stare at me. Startled green eyes regarded me for a moment before the cat slunk, as if embarrassed to be seen in such a state of undress, through a small gap in a garden hedge.
I stepped when I reached the spot where the cat had disappeared, but there was nothing to be seen.
I moved on under a deep gray sky. Up ahead, the foothills of the Dublin mountains were topless, their rolling contours obscured by the clouds that seemed settled in for the day.
In Northern California the hills are green in the Winter months. Here, in the Emerald Isle, they are so all year round.