About Rain

On Facebook, old friends waxed nostalgic today about memories of our shared summer rains: steady drops popping on the Green River and creek, the smell of damp earth and musty growing things so thick and deep, sitting tucked into a poncho on the ground, the laurels twisted into an embrace above and around.

But the rain here, yesterday and today, brings only pinching melancholy, influenced perhaps by the absence of sharp angles of light to invite my camera. 

Only these, the wild peas sprouting along the Goat Track please me with their teary pink and white satin petals.  Beautiful, yes, but wet and wearing like longing for something of home.  My brother called his daughter, my niece, whom I miss and long to see, "Sweetpea," when she was a child, and it is she I see in these petals: they are beautiful.