I’m watching the birds in my backyard hop along the dirt, pecking at seeds or whatever has been unearthed from last night’s rain.
Yes, rain.
We could hardly believe it last night, heading out from dinner with friends — the Southern California pavement a shiny black, the raindrops falling and backlit by streetlights.
It’s actually raining, someone said. I pulled my coat tight around me.
At home I climbed into pajamas, under a blanket at first and then down under the comforter. I hit the lights.
In the darkness I could hear it — tiny raindrops hitting the tops of trash cans outside my bedroom window — and it comforted me.
And now this morning with the skies still gray, and the birds chasing each other, hopping and pecking and fluffing their wet feathers, it feels like more rain may come. And that feels like hope.
This too shall pass, they say.
It goes for the good things, too.
May we be present to them all — to the rain while it falls, to Hope when she comes, and to whatever tomorrow brings.
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I urge you to please notice when you are happy. — Kurt Vonnegut
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"tiny raindrops hitting the tops of trash cans outside my bedroom window" is the best sound