I walked out on the front porch to watch the rain and thought for a split second it was snowing. Cherry blossom petals blustered in the wind and splattered all over the sidewalk. It was so windy that between the horizontal rain and the ominous swaying of the trees, I was sure a natural disaster was about to split the house in two and sweep Silas away into the night.
My parents' house sidles up next to the woods. The towering old trees, still holding their winter silhouettes in the dark, creaked and swayed in the roaring wind as I stood there. I am surprised by how unaccustomed I have become to these old friends. Living in California for so many years, where the only deciduous trees are 20 or 30 feet high, I find myself struck and startled by their sheer size and presence. Especially under the wind...
The rain is calming, but thunder still rumbles around the sky as I sit at this table. I have the back door open and can smell the grass and dirt, the wet concrete, and blooming bulbs mixed into the night air. Wind chimes are clanging and the rain falling from the gutter slaps the ground. It is Spring in Washington.
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