Rain

Today the rain stopped. The slow, methodical drips that escaped from clogged gutters like the incessant ticking of clocks outside of every window ceased unceremoniously. Slippery mats of soggy leaves and grass cuttings lie strewn in spots on the deck, on the concrete steps and against the corner of the trellis where the water washed them on its constant quest for a downward escape (or for our basement). The rivers and swollen streams rush mud and debris to places beyond Asheville, leaving calling cards of makeshift ponds in parking lots and riverside parks. Rem woke this morning, amazed. "Mommy," he called from the glass door where his breath created bursts of fog. "The sky is blue." The clouds moved hurriedly, offering quick glimpses of blue as they parted and reconnected.

Tam ventured trepidatiously away from the house as though stepping from the ark for the first time. Together with Rem she made a path of wet footprints through the house. Rem returned to the deck for more puddles but Tam seemed to want to let things dry before committing more time to the outdoors. Or perhaps she needed to recover from time spent couped up in the house with Rem and the unwilling moments of playing sidekick to a toddler sick with cabin fever.

Those in the know on the local television station dangle the promise of a bright, colorful autumn to soften the news of devastated apple crops. Rain remains in the forecast like an unexpected dinner guest who won't leave. Gloominess still hovers and the humidity dampens all of our moods. Craig's newfound guitar chords play a melancholy accompaniment to our restlesss evening of homework and chores. I need some sunshine.