I hear it but am not quite convinced. My landlady is having sprinklers installed today, after all; maybe they are working already. But the unmistakable rumble confirms my dearest hope: the storm is here. The one that makes the heat seem like a passing whisper and the future seize this very moment. Out the door, bike off the porch, silly helmet fastened, and I ride:
Along a street with its art and snack lovers caught unaware by Mother Nature’s sloppy and exhilarating kiss. I can tell right away who is kissing back just by sharing a bright look and spreading grin. I zoom past lovers and grumps alike full of so much gratitude I feel like I AM f l y i n g! Soaring down another past the superfluous houses. Why would I dwell inside when I can inhale this almost suffocating blend of moist carbon monoxide and stale heat. (It would sizzle if it could, I know.) When I can FEEL the heavy drops on my open skin: splat on the fold that my cheek makes when it meets my smiling eyes; splosh on my eager lower lip. Yes! In and I smell the newly wet fields greet the nourishment with what I can only assume is my current form of elation. Out and I see the smooth gray canopy flanked by the ostentatious thunderheads of the East squaring off against the persistent sun of the West. And Iambetweenthemboth completely in balance and refusing to take sides. I can have them both and so I will.
I am braver than the llamas and as peaceful as the pasture they deserted. This is my shelter.
The as-yet-invisible blackberries along the path caress me with memories of last summer’s perfume and I push up the hill, absorbing only the particular air that exists right now right here. A sticky mixture of today’s weeding with this gift of rain clinging to my flesh. Up the hill with ease that some call adrenaline, but that would only belittle this energy.
Something like an illuminating combination of words
or the moon peering over the mountain,
I am overwhelmed by the perfection of This.
And all I need to say