Blustery Saturday

The dog whuffs and yips in her bed, asleep, lulled by the taps of rain on the air conditioner and window.  The smell of ozone tickles my nose and brings to mind a series of sense memories from my childhood and youth.  Sitting on the front stoop, walking  by a stream waiting for the rain to make it spill it's banks, smashing the volleyball across the yard over and over challenging nature and my frustrated hormonal teen years to try and beat me.  Back when I was indestructible. Today the rain patters a steady beat.  I call it a soaking rain.  Good for the crops. Even though it has been more than 25 years since I've lived in that small farming community my mind still think about the crops every time it rains. I was never a farmer but I understood why the cycle was important.  How delicate the balance was and yet how hearty the land and people could be.  

Today the city is washed anew.  Tomorrow rainbow flags will fly and folks across the nation will marry.  Feet will march and bodies will dance.  The celebration will be grand.  But for now, tonight, the fan will run nosily in the corner.  The light will be turned off and the dog will cleverly slip up onto the bed thinking no one will notice that she has curled up against my back.  Party goers will run for cabs and the subway, trying to stay warm during this surprisingly cold June rain.  And even here, far away from the fields, birds will seek shelter and ducks will swim through the inlet.  The grass and trees of the city will appreciate the soaking rain that come to refresh and renew.