Things dried out nicely yesterday, enough that I could sweep the fir needles from the walk, and for the neighbor kids to chalk their driveway with colorful games and designs. When I was coming back from across the street with the mail, I could see their dog sitting happily and looking on, his nose testing each scent in the air, smiling, content, completely satisfied to be a part of it all. The whole world was his bone.
Early on, it froze — well, not quite. It was thirty-four degrees. But the rooftops were white, and just as the sun was coming up a light fog formed. Out for a walk, I was able to look directly into the old star’s face. We exchanged gazes for a time, the way friends do who haven’t seen each other for a while, and who know and love the long way around.
The atmosphere in the afternoon was an explosion of pollen, light, and color — doors open, windows open, heart open, mind open.
And then came evening, and soon all was silent, even though all was silent before — silent in the traffic’s roar, the dog’s bark, the child’s shout, the slammed door, the church bell, and the good-bye horn. Such joy there is between rains, knowing there will be more, and even more joy, when it returns.