Crystal ball

It has been raining today. Quick, cold intervals when the sky breaks apart and water pounds the windows and the birds sing just a little louder. Occasionally, the sky breaks apart so quickly you can hear it, and lightning burns across the clouds. And then, in a moment, it is gone.

I remember the rain in the jungle we explored together nearly four years ago, in the giddiness of being newly married. The rain there fell every afternoon, a warm, silent, heavy wash. The monkeys would fall silent in the trees, and the parrots would sing a little louder. It seems ages ago now.

It’s funny the things you notice to mark the passage of time. My daughter, one year ago rolling herself over, is now trying to run. This results in a hundred mini-crises a day as her head and feet go at different speeds or in different directions. It’s amazing how we can lose track of our feet once something catches our eye. The baby chicks, just a couple of months ago tiny balls of fluff, now scratch and peck and swarm the backyard, their tiny chirps resembling clucks every day. The woman in the mirror has laugh lines I never really noticed before this year.

We have had quite a bit of rain lately. Often just a quiet shower the birds gather in, but more recently thunderstorms which rock the house and tear branches from our old maple tree in the front yard with each new crack and gust. As I gather them, I try to count their rings. How old is this guardian of our threshold?

I have been so busy lately, though I find it hard to point to what, specifically, I am doing. I have two writing projects, both in their infancy, that have been pulling at my mind. I am organizing, organizing, organizing. I am redefining things again. I am trying to find clever ways to do everything. To find a way to give my family everything, without sacrificing anything. And I am so acutely aware lately of the days as they pass, the tilting of the sun and clouds, and so determined to make certain that all things in the future are accounted for; all loose end tied up.

Meanwhile, the rain pats a quiet rhythm on the roof: tick, tock, tick.


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