We’ve had our first full days of real sunshine here in the Northwest. The thermometer actually pegged 85 today.
I disregarded my Daddy’s old advice to wait until the oak leaves were as big as a squirrel’s ears and I planted corn. Actually, I planted everything. I put in a big garden as a hedge against the economy.
While I’m writing this in the thin hours of the morning, a familiar whisper makes me pause and listen.
My friend from the Osage Nation would call this steady patter a “female” rain. It’s comforting in its scent and sound. I can recall many nights outdoors and drifting to sleep with the rhythm of raindrops tapping my tent.
I’m sure I can hear the seeds I just planted, awakening and stretching roots into the earth.
There’s something about a gentle rain.
It’s what hope sounds like.