Last evening, while playing 50 States trivia as a hard rain fell, I told my daughters I could sense the earth greening up around us. When the sun comes up this morning, I’m hoping for some slivers of this truth.
Yesterday afternoon, my younger daughter and I stopped by the (closed) library where I work. We wandered around the playground, the sodden sandbox with a few abandoned spoons and bowls and toy trucks, and walked around a pair of blue socks some child had forgotten. The flower beds were strewn with last summer’s dead stalks.
We walked into the woods where the spring streams ran high. The forest was fragrant with mud; no coronavirus fear here.
The spring rain.
Talking and passing
The straw rain‐cape and umbrella.
— Buson
