Maybe it's our Irish blood, but rain calms us more than sun.
Over the first cup of coffee, we hear the farmer working his field. Camera in hand, we cross the yard, fording a molecular stream of lilac perfume as we head toward the cornfield.
We kneel in deep grass and take a few as he passes. If he waved, we missed it. The ground is dry for the last of April, and the tines raise dust.
Walking back, heads of dandelions popping against our shoes, a shadow crosses our path. We shade our eyes and see the red-tailed hawk gyring between us and the sun.
We turn for the long view, always good advice. If it rains tomorrow we'll come back to look for arrowheads gleaming in the wet. We found one like that once. Once fosters hope.
copyright 2010 J. O"Brien, all rights reserved
