I rode in on the lingering breathy kiss of a wind storm. Morning sun climbed out above the cloudy covers, giving garden trees a rainbow of red, orange, yellow, and late-lying green waves with the warm light. We were born today in a children's garden, full of seeds like the pumpkin we discovered there among the bent sunflowers.
The light was fleeting. Rains came quickly. Drops of sweetness secretly gathered, and when the bell rang, they sang to me as I blushed. Maybe rain is a teen-ager—shifting intensity throughout the day, stomping on the ceiling, hailing attention from even the most focused, and fading as it breaks. At one point, I shivered just looking out the streaked window.
A mixed bag blossomed as I zipped into my hatches to saddle up. Sun burst on the west; skies tumbled on the east. In the crossroads I pushed off with rainbows in my head, heart, and horizon. I was thwaped alive, smiling. Soon, like any good storm, there were blue skies, Magritte clouds, and still puddles.
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