It rained, and all
the forgotten fragrances of orchard, earth and chaparral were suddenly
revived. Ripening persimmons blushed in their trees, a stag
paused beside the road and stared at me for a good long moment before he ran
away, a row of mailboxes stood like silent sentries, one with its mouth wide
open.
It rained, and stocks were falling and boomers everywhere re-imagined their retirement and fingers pointed and anger bloomed. The fruit from a thorny cluster of cactus dropped to the ground, exploding like cherry bombs, each oozing its magenta jam. Coyote sang like Caruso beneath my window and left his berry-beaded scat in the driveway.
It rained, and everything was in the air: monarch butterflies and dragonflies and a boisterous covey of quail and the tiny jeweled hummingbird who loiters at the sage and the great rolling clouds and the high-stepping dreams and the things we were promised and the things that we feared and the things we are hoping for still.
just so lovely and true. wish I had been there to see all those things..sk
Posted by: sandy | October 09, 2008 at 05:32 AM