write while it rains

Sunday morning and it finally rained. Late night last night, meaning I drove home from Cincinnati. I found myself at a street fair. All dressed up and somewhere to go. Let me back up.

Oh, it’s raining now. As if the world waited for me to fully embrace the truth and lifted the drought. If only I mattered that much to the universe. Laughable. Yet I am satisfied nonetheless.

I will write while it rains because that’s when the best thoughts evolve. My son played guitar yesterday. Season opener for the Cincinnati Guitar Society so naturally, I attended. I had some time before it began so I looked up a coffee shop. Unbeknownst to me, a festival was happening. I stumbled upon.

stumble stumble

toil and trouble

October is

the gateway into winter

So I ordered a dirty chai, headed outside the establishment and sat at a table. And observed. I was wearing a black dress and black sandals and had my black backpack with me, laptop inside. Not my general street fair motif but all was well. A group of kids, probably ten or eleven year olds, played tag. A band played down the way. As in rock band. Arepas for sale. Momos. Sights and smells and sounds. I didn’t have much time. Do I ever have enough. Time?

But it was, maybe due to the brevity, lovely. I looked over a website my daughter created. Considered her writing skills, which are strong. Pondered my son’s musical abilities. The blessing of uniqueness.

Reminder. Acceptance, love. I so often allow myself to doubt. I know why. Yet it makes no sense when all is proven over and over again. Gratitude is currently more compelling than grief. Thankful for an early autumn evening in Cincinnati. Bright moon, my own thoughts. Smiles rather than words. Knowing.

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