The drought is not over but we got our first measurable rain in over 6 months. Maybe I think the weather gods are stingy but over 2 days it only ever rained at night so we couldn’t sit inside and enjoy the rain. This may be confusing for people who live in areas where rain is a regular weather choice but for the heat-blasted sun-baked wastelands of southern California, rain is a gift that only occurs a few times a year. There were clouds, real puffy white whipped frothy clouds that made the land feel part of the sky again, not oppressed by it.
My son and I went to the lake to watch ducks, feel coolness and water in the air that perhaps summer was finally ending. He explored like we all should explore, finding little paths down to the water through branches like dry cracked fingers. His understanding of the scale of water is that of a plane dividing worlds, one that can be disturbed by throwing sticks and rocks. We weren’t there long enough, my grinding internal clock signalling it was time to pick up the car from the oil change place, to go home for lunch and nap, to do chores. It’s never long enough at the lake. But hopefully long enough to imprint on his beautiful perfect little mind that one day he and his dad went to the lake and walked over rocks, saw ducks rise in impatience and waddle into the water, saw clouds inflate and tumble through the sky as blue as his eyes. I live for moments like this.