It rained a bit last night. Not enough to soak things, just a minor shower and dampness. The sky is grey this morning with more rain forecast. I'll have to grab my raincoat on the way to work. That or get a little wet.
I wonder if the masons can finish my work today or if the weather will delay things. They've done the job on schedule. I'm grateful to have people keep their word best they can and do good work. Still, even the best person can't outwit the rain. Nobody can beat the rain.
My older daughter is struggling with mood. She's to the age where her body is being put through a wringer. Her mind too. There are things going on with friends, school is drawing to a close, the dance recital is this weekend, and she and her younger sister are sharing a room for the second week. The struggles show in flashes of temper. Nothing major, a soft rain, but there's no way around it. We pull on raincoats and walk between raindrops. We smile at her grey skies and make sure she feels the warm sun of our love.
Our younger daughter is under attack by allergies. She's on medicine but remains underwater looking up with the face of the baby she used to be. I can't help wanting to stand in the rain for her and keep her dry. She knows there's nothing to do but go through it.
My wife waits for July when a doctor will, one hopes, fix her painful shoulder. Last night, in bed, I felt her frustration at the pain, brokenness, and worry that we are getting old. We lay close to one another and our touches were a breeze blowing our clouds off to sleep.
I'm in the last weeks of school. Soon I'll be done and who knows where I'll be next school year. September's weather remains a mystery. I stack wood against the cold but hope that winter never comes again. I cast about for new opportunities and keep moving.
In these last weeks of work there is the possibility of lightning strikes, tornadoes, a hurricane shifted far off track, or a landslide brought on by the rain. Colleagues have been hit by these storms without warning. These things are capricious and depend on pressure systems far from where we are. We prepare for the worst and never stray far from a storm cellar. I spend a portion of each day imagining myself twisting inside a funnel wondering if I'll crash to the ground, be thrown into a tree, or carried to a magical land. Who knows?
As I type, the kitten is in her window watching. Weather is just a story to her, a movie played on her window screen. She watches windblown leaves hold fast to a branch, sees wet ground same as dry, and when I go near she rolls on her back and calls softly for me to scratch her head.
I've almost finished my coffee and these words. It's time to go out into the world. I'll bring a raincoat. The skies tell me it might rain. I can get through most any storm just so long as I keep my head about me, prepare best I can, and write on.