A storm is brewing. As yet unnamed, but gathering itself together off the coast of Mexico. A hot swirling mass of clouds, interacting, trying to figure out how best to work with one another. What to become? Forecasts now 90%, the chances of becoming a tropical depression, and then a hurricane. Trajectory to skirt the western edge of the Baja, snaking alongside the coastline all the way into southern California. El Niño beginning to clearly show his face.

There’s an anxiousness associated with incoming storms. A tingling in my fingertips. A slow building race in my heart rate. The unknown unsettling. The questions that remain, unanswerable. The timing. The where. The force and power of the wind. The probable amount of rain.

Preparations: Secure the property. Move outdoor patio furniture indoors or garage it. Relocate anything that might become a projectile. Check food supplies. Water. Propane. Flashlights. Candles. Satellite phone. Board games or jigsaw puzzles for the duration. Hope that the hurricane glass doors and windows perform as advertised.

Again, the unknowing.

We desperately need rain, so a part of me screams, bring it. The desert begging. The dry and desiccated cardon and tarote shriveling downward in response to seven years of drought. Here in southern Baja, it seems feast or famine. Too much water, too fast, turns dry arroyos into raging rivers. Shuts off vehicle access. Blessed water pours from the sky, and no place or way to store the same.

NOAA Hurricane Center checked multiple times per day. The waiting.. the waiting …