The sun wants in, but I won't let it.
For a second there, a brief moment, when it was still 6-something-AM and the baby came screeching through the living room, I caught a glimpse of clouds. But they didn't last, and now the sun wants in, and I am enclosed behind shades.
It's a strange thing to long for darkness, to wish for storms, to lay awake listening for thunder only to fall asleep until the heat stirs you back into day again. I think this is how I've always lived my life, this Kansas girl, waiting for storms. Even on a cloudless day, I search for them, turning my head towards the wind.
When we first landed back in the States, we were surprised by the heat and the sun. We were tired and achey and hid from the outside world, putting ourselves back together again.
Then one day - late afternoon - a clap of thunder, and the downpour came. Hail and wind and thick green skies. When the hail died down and long sheets of rain kept coming, we five ran for the street, dancing and laughing.
Broken edges rounded by a whetstone.
Some say I expect the worst, never hope for the best, always wait for the other shoe to drop. But this isn't true. The truth is I'm always hoping for the best, expecting a miracle, waiting for a surprise.
I want brooding, dark thunderheads to drop rays of glory around us. I want to shout, "Yes, I knew it! I believed, and look, here it is!" I want to drink, to fill ourselves up with it. Cover the children in it, dance in it, throw it back up to the heavens in praise.
But this stale sun scorches my feet. My head hurts, temples throbbing. We keep indoors, curtains pulled closed, waiting.
It's 10-something-AM and I'm just now taking my coffee in bed.
It rained, today, at approximately 3-something-PM. Beautiful, warm, steam-inducing rain. I sat on the balcony with the baby, his knees scraped badly from a morning fall, kicking my feet under raindrops. I felt heavenly water dimple my face, and I cried.
What a surprise.