Saturday, June 2, 2012



I am in bed, next to Amabel, listening to the rain on the roof, dripping into the gutter outside her window, soaking the earth for the second day and night in a row.

It is tempting to be impatient with the rain.  It is tempting to wish that it would stop now that the gardens have had their fill.  Tomorrow I want to go outside and transplant trays of seedlings waiting under grow lights in the basement; I want to pull more weeds out of the thyme that is rapidly turning into a jungle; I want to help Jeffrey excavate new garden territory for a sunflower and pumpkin patch.

But the rain patters on and on.  And as I snuggle close to my sleeping girl, I let myself feel grateful for the slower pace of the weekend and the time we spent inside, reading.  I sigh, knowing that we won't need to drag the long hose through the knee-high grass in the meadow tomorrow to water the little apple trees.  I will go to sleep to the sound of the rain, knowing that their roots are sinking deeper into the saturated earth that we share.

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