The rain paradox
This year's okra stand-last week stading before the mower gets it!
There is a steady “plink, plink, plink” somewhere nearby. My mind scrambles around the sound but it’s just water dripping onto metal somewhere. I try not to begrudge us this rain. We really needed it-all those disassembled fields waiting for rain to germinate their freshly seeded cover crop. But I’ve grown used to the happy crinkles around my eyes and the daily quick shedding of the early morning layers. Sunshine is a happy habit for me. I’d never survive in Seattle. Like skin wrinkled from wetness, I shrink into myself with the rain. My mind curls up on the bed with a good book and a hot cup of tea and refuses to budge. So my body sort of stumbles blindly through the haze of tasks that can’t be put off. I’m like a tomato plant in this way: I hate to be rained on, but I need the water at my roots. Such a paradox.