The morning after evening rain I stepped into my squint-worthy-bright backyard. Wind clapped the leaves of my red maple and made a shower you could see around. On my way for a morning stroll, I made my way through the alley, down the sidewalk, into the community garden, through the adjacent school yard, other tall, mature trees also made personal showers from the drops delayed. Last night I had a notion to go for a walk but didn’t on account of the rain, which started as soon as I did. This morning, as the cool clouds tears intermittently fell on my shoulders, I got the sense that this wetness waited for me. We can, after all, avoid certain fates for only so long.
Sitting with the experience a couple hours later I try to take advantage of the distance.
Trees give oxygen. Trees = air.
Water sustains. Water = body.
Sun sustains. Sun = life.
At one point as I walked along the parkway the gust was such that outpouring felt akin to a cold shower of the sort usually started by a faucet. “I didn’t need that one,” I said aloud even though no human was near enough to hear me. Upon review, seems I was wrong about that. I need it. I need it all. And how lucky I am right now that I have it.