Early this afternoon, raucous clouds gathered west of Eagle Heights. They rode a loud wind and poured out their joy over two women and a baby walking under basswood and oak trees.
Once we realized a soaking was inevitable, we laughed and gloried in the cool freshness. My mom held the umbrella over Ramona’s stroller while Ramona reveled in the unexpected, loud wetness all around us. I ran and breathed hard between giggles, washed into childhood by the joy, the frantic dance.
Inside, towel drying, we felt clean in a way only the heavens can bathe: full of splashing song, graced in gray delight.