in the afterwards


Rain has been forecast. I say it like a secret, like I'm whispering about having seen a smile between two people who weren't supposed to like each other. February rain. It is always a treasure.

The sky softens, preparing to receive it. There is less contrast - all that fierce white going a little grey; trees and rooftops gentling into a paler scape. And the earth begins to open its pores, its flowers. Everything feels like the world is anticipating the lovely, langorous afterwards, when it will be full again.

When I think about my best self, it is so often the person I am afterwards. Gentled, perhaps a little battered, my eyes gone heavier and my heart plumped with knowing. You know, after the bread and wine, after the storm. Lately I've been trying to gather strength for the dark possibilities that lie ahead - maybe war, maybe another global financial depression, certainly droughts and hurricanes, food shortages, rising prices - but I find that strength generally isn't helpful to me. I am wiser, calmer, more thoughtful, when I soften myself, quieten my voice, and go deep into the feeling that is like the feeling before midsummer rain - the understanding that nothing matters if you haven't got enough nourishment, body or soul.

I wish it would rain for everyone. I wish bread and wine for the world.


  1. Beautiful. And I wish you beautiful, cooling rain. I too wonder what will happen in the world. Everything seems to be rushing forward so quickly, and out of control.

  2. Lovely thoughtful peaceful post. The unknown has been difficult. Trump is messing with the entire world. He needs to be impeached. If we're lucky.. he will be.

  3. I am not a particularly political person, and anyone who has spread hate on their social networks has been swiftly removed from my own. We can stand up for what we believe in without spreading hatred, and I wish more people understood this.

    Your posts are so peaceful and beautiful, and I can't help but feel a sense of calm whenever I visit your blog. I long for my hometown, on the coast of California - every morning, the fog rolled in from the sea, and it was almost always drizzling. Now, in the desert, I am dry and parched after nearly 17 years by the sea.


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