And the rain came down. It was a steady flow that began before the sunrise after a night of surprises and momentary wakefulness. The rain trickled along the window screens and created puddles on the pavement. In front of the school, pollen-filled pods had created a carpet on the cement.
She couldn’t have anticipated the order of events over the course of those warm-weather days but she rode them like a surfer experienced in the art of understanding ocean waves. The Sabbath rest bookended by exertion – a gathering around the decorated table with bread fashioned from the hard work of her hands. A hike along the sloping greens, intoxicated with the scent of pine needles and fertile soil. A ponderous few moments in a Japanese garden where she recognized the soothing qualities of smooth round pebbles beneath her bare feet and the clay-tinged water advancing over steppes.
So many familiar colors but in any given moment, they took on a different depth.
Every year, the rains came. And every year, it was as if the first time. Just like the first snow, and the first swim, and the first stroll through the farmer’s market, and the first tomatoes from the garden.
The garden had yet to be planted but she knew it was just a matter of time.