Wednesday, June 18, 2025, 59.3* 0715 Rain
Too thirsty for mother nature’s brew to collect in low places, the earth drinks all that is given. Mariah is not here to shake droplets from leaves or to bend bow and scrape branches together. Soleil does not come to brush the skies with gold nor light paths through the trees. Birds listen to the song of rain they don’t join in. No drops slide down windows; no drops create tapestries on screens.
I don’t need to say “Come in.” The three return, timing their entrance after the one before them is dried, wanting to snuggle under the extra-large towel, get a biscuit, return to sleep.
Comfort is formed in the womb of routine.
ICM Photo: LJ Austin
