In the gray downfall of a rainy day, she sat before the open window, listening to the drip drip drip of the elements playing with the wind. It was innocuous and prescient, a red beetle in the middle of the gray.

The cut greens from the farmers market, the berries plucked off the bushes, melted on the tongue. The children asleep in the tender light of night, the mother at rest and at ease.

Everything in time, she uttered to the darkness. Nourishment of ambition satisfied, probing the meaning of money and the definition of gain. She wondered if personal wealth were really an illusion, the true mark of success an ability to rest easy in the onset of night.

All this darkness talk and yet it was bright day! What could be the antithesis of seeing? There were so many illusions swirling like tornados and lost souls and long-since-departed loved ones – this world colliding with so many other worlds, a coffee in the mid-day, a runner’s stretch to the finish line, maker’s mark, a smooth cool breeze at dusk.

So many ways to nourish the self. Was she doing any of them really?

Out the window, a squirrel cracked a nut. The tall weed in the yard was gone, lay spent in the grass under the shade of three very tall trees. The squirrel squired away his desire for more, satisfied with just a little. She understood the metaphor. She understood the rain.

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