“It was pouring all the way here, just pouring. Those kids were soaked.”
Rain, rain, rain. Days of rain, weeks of rain, dreariness, wet decks, sidewalks and pavement shiny wet from growling skies.
She thought she’d never get here, the trucks throwing water in vicious intent, trying to drown her in gray.
Then rain gives way to sunset reclaiming earth under broken clouds, lost ghost ships slowly sailing through tree tops tipped with gold, mists rising randomly– ancient native spirits signaling silently hill to hill.
A rainbow, wide, bright, the purple dominating in neon! It’s gone, where did it go? Over there! See it doubled, a reflection of itself over our back yard, arching side to side and back again, a promise, protective, just for us.
Do you have your umbrella? Watch your step, drive carefully, see you tomorrow, thanks for coming.
The air is heavy, too warm and damp, resisting surrender to sun day after day after day. Finally, late today, sun after canceled games and ruined cookouts, yellow light instead of gray, a hope of cool fall nights crouching around the next corner or the next or the next or the next.
I work overtime against my will, the load increases, relentless and demanding. I’m in artificial air, aware of thunder, not of sun.
Finally, color. At last, open windows, fresh air. Soon I’ll sleep to crickets’ song, not AC’s hum. Freshness, breathe on me in my soul.