By Mary Alice Murphy

Don't you just love the smell of rain? A few times lately, our olfactory senses have been treated to the smell before the rain arrives, which is the smell of ozone, I've been told, as well as to the lovely wet piñon scent after the drops have fallen.

I'm writing this Tuesday afternoon just before 6 p.m. The wind is really kicking up to high gusts, a few drops of rain are falling, and the sound of thunder is bouncing off nearby mountainsides.

The wind is so strong it is whipping leaves off the fruit trees, and CRASH, BANG, an awning window screen just blew out. The dog and I jumped.

I don't have a large crop of plums, so I hope they aren't getting torn off the tree by the gusts.

And of course, here I sit at my computer, typing away. I do have a large surge protector with battery, so I hope it works, if the lights go out.

Large drops are now pelting the ground and windows. The forecast said the possibility of small hail, so I keep checking out the window.

So far, the rains have not been much more than a trace, but perhaps it will be measurable today.

Could this, can this, is this the beginning of the monsoon season? We can only hope for a robust season of plentiful rain, lasting into the winter season and bringing us bountiful snow, especially in the mountains.

Nature has tortured us the past few years with fires to clean out the forests that have become too overgrown to continue to sustain tree life. Because we've been remiss in doing watershed restoration, nature has done it with the ferocity of the many destructive blazes, changing the landscape for the rest of our lives.

I haven't yet had the courage to take a peek at what the Signal Fire wrought on our favorite hiking trails. We won't be able to see the damage probably for a year or more, while precautions are taken by the Forest Service to mitigate possible more catastrophic mudslides and landslides, not to mention the toppling and rolling downhill of the burned trees.

Aspens will likely be the first to populate the forest again. I'm hoping, too, for some open meadows, such as the one that used to be Blue Flag meadow with the irises growing all around a small pond. I heard the area had been severely damaged. So I don't expect to ever see the wild irises reappear, but maybe more lupines and other of my favorite wildflowers, such as catchflies and penstemons, will recover with the rains.

It makes me wonder if it would not have been so much cheaper and more efficient to harvest the wood that could have brought in economic development and jobs, thinned the struggling forests and renewed the watersheds. Why didn't we insist?

Next blow-by-blow on the storm—the lights have flickered several times, and the rain is pouring down, albeit for only a short time.

If you're reading this when the rains are coming or have just cleared the air, go stand and let a few drops hit you. I did, and be sure to smell the clean, clear air. Maybe our allergies will disappear for a time? We can only hope.

May your musings bring you beauty!