We watched the storm roll in, sitting together, the four of us, on our back porch.
Scrunched together on the glider, we put our heads back, looked up.
A curtain of grey flannel pulled itsself across the sky.
The air changed from hot and dry to cool and moist.
The wind picked up and blew all those little white puffs of tree seed, or whatever they are, in spirals in the sky.
The big, green trees swayed and swirled.
It wasn’t scary.
We sat there together, feeling the energy, the electricity of the storm to come.
Big boy nestled against me and baby put her head down on daddy’s chest.
She had been sick and fussy all day, and was tired, but content outside, on the porch, watching that storm roll in.
These are the moments- quiet and rare, of us together in peace- for which I live.
These are the moments, simple and stark that are better and brighter than any festival.
Later we learned there had been a rainbow, after the storm, double and majestic.
People called it the most amazing rainbow they had ever seen, marched out of doors, took pictures and bounced around under its majesty.
We were putting the children to bed, and missed it entirely.
Our looking up at the sky had already been done for the day.