Tess Taylor is the author of the poetry collections "Work & Days" and "The Forage House." The views expressed in this commentary are solely hers.

(CNN) Wednesday night in the Bay Area, where I live, there was an earthquake. It roused me from a deep uneasy dream about a sea leviathan, and as I woke, I realized we were riding bareback on the skin of the earth.

The ground heaved and rolled. Our books and lamps rattled, then shuddered into silence. The air rang slightly as objects resettled in darkness. And then, it was time to go to back to sleep.

Tess Taylor

We could already feel that it wasn't that extraordinary an event as earthquakes go, only, as it turned out, a little old 4.5. It was our local fault line having a midnight grumble, letting off some steam, as opposed to "the big one" we all know is coming.

Still, I had trouble getting back to sleep, and I found myself, as I woke later than usual this morning (still slightly groggy, still seeing the odd dream leviathan in my mind) thinking wistfully of snow days.

Here in California, we don't get them. We got days off for toxic levels of fire smoke in the autumn; and we, of course, would grind to a halt if something really apocalyptic happened, which, indeed, it always might.

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