Wishful Thinking

Sigh. And yet, it was almost 100 degrees again today...

Night Noises

'Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?'    (Mary Oliver)

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My mother spends the next two weeks teaching in Cambodia.

I get a vicarious thrill from her sense adventure. Her sense of purpose. I'll catch myself, in the middle of the day, wondering about the view outside her window. The smell that hangs in the air, the chatter of places and people.  

An email from mom landed in my inbox on Sunday afternoon, the middle of the night in Phnom Penh. The night noises so loud she couldn't sleep.

Ever since my brain has been crowded with jungle noises and the sound of a rainstorm from the other side of the world.

Rainstorm

After months and months of drought. After acclimating to the scratch at my ankles of brown and dead grass blades. After the soil shrinks away from the sidewalk and the City has watering restrictions. 

It rained. Small, sharp droplets. A heavy, wet wind.  

I went outside. Sat down. Closed my eyes to have a more tactile sense of what was happening.