Big Plans.

I don't know how you don't love a storm, particularly one this long in the making: sevenish days of ninetyish degrees and all the pollen in the world and then a long gray afternoon and now this heavy, hard rain, fat windblown drops up against the west-facing panes, water in through the open upstairs closet window and just enough danger to merit the crawl across the bottom of the TV screen. Now there's thunder rumbling out west. I don't care if the shed leaks. I don't care if we get a tulip or two taken out. I don't care if the lawnmower's not covered over. We needed this. It had not rained. We had a huge wet winter and then we had August for a week. This'll knock us about back into place.

In a year, I'll take Edward out to the porch and try explain to her about how every April the mint comes in, how every April the storms come through. I will make every effort to do what my dad did for me.