Of course it does. I have had the sprinkler going for 2 1/2 hours. So naturally it is going to rain.
I see the polka-dotted deck, sigh and head out to the garage to turn off the sprinkler.
I stand there, watching the soft rain. There is the promise of a storm behind it, but for now, it is soft.
There is that smell, the unmistakable smell of the rain on blacktop in the summer. It is not a very lovely smell, but it is a pleasant one. It evokes contentment in me, and reminds me of times when I didn’t worry about my hair getting wet, when I would come inside soaked, with wrinkled fingers and toes, and bits of grass clinging to my bare legs.
Outside, there is the muted rumble of thunder, and just above that I can hear the patter of raindrops on metal gutters. It is calm.
So I sit there, in my garage, and watch. I watch as the rain falls. I watch as the robin hops and listens. I wonder where on the sidewalk the last dry spot will be.
I see cars driving, and I wonder where they are going. I remember that my dinner is made and I am not going anywhere. I long for this feeling to be more constant. This feeling of freedom, of contentment, of rest. I long for summer.
I long for summer’s pink shoulders and popsicles. I long for its mornings of nothing, its lunches at the pool, and its afternoons with no homework.
I long for its barbecues, its bumble bees and its veronica and lavender. I long to sit in summer’s sun, blowing bubbles and sipping lemonade.
I long for afternoons like this, for summer storms, and for no place to be other than here. With them.