Rain here is always such a blessing. And our house has skylights, which catch and amplify the rain-music. We first looked at this house on a rainy day, and I know that the sound on the skylights was one of the points that made me look for ways that this house could work. (If I had known what it would take, I might have thought differently; I'm glad I didn't know.) On days like this, snug inside hearing the rain fall, a deep contentment holds me. The best used to be the end of a day like today, snuggling into bed spooning with my beloved, drifting off to sleep to the music of the rain.
This was one of those days that was a sequence of several days in one: cooking for new parents, visiting a friend, stopping at the Farmer's Market, returning home to the cats.
All interspersed, of course, with emails to politicians: independent investigator; impeachment; internet neutrality; protect the environment; keep funding Planned Parenthood. I feel like I am not fighting so much for my personal preferences as for the survival, first of all, of our democracy; and then, of our Earth altogether, with all its myriad and marvelous creatures.
Meanwhile, the rain is watering me as well as the soil, soaking into the crevices of my mind and heart that had begun drying up, saying "No, not yet; you're not done yet."
I suppose that's good news; the line from Phil Ochs's song floats up: "I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here."