A beautiful day today. It’s been seventy degrees and the first summer storm is tumbling in. The sky is a dozen shades of gray, cobalt, lavender. I am looking forward to pounding, surging rain, rain falling down in heavy sheets like water thrown out of a bucket. I am hoping for thunder, and for the kind of lightning that can wake a person from sleep with nothing but its brightness.
The city is full of trees and the trees are full of white blossoms. On our balcony we have a clay pot overflowing with pansies, and my mother has promised to bring us another, this one planted with rosemary.
Someday soon all these tests and projects and papers and forms and obligations will have washed themselves away, and we will all be together again, if only for a little while. We will be lost in the heat of these summer weeks, wandering from one house to another. I’m expecting sunburns, droplets collecting on cold drinks, hours lost to television, and books devoured whole at breakneck speeds. I’m expecting buckets of cold paint, and sleeping through the morning, and the soft and careful clicks of cameras.
I am expecting such relief. I have missed so many hearts. The weather is wonderful, and I am as full of love as the trees are of flowers.
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