Awoke to the cacophony of 1812 Overture thunder and months of pent-up rain clattering on the roof. What blessed noise! Am I the only one feeling like it’s the summer of the Apocalypse, what with wildfires burning swaths of Colorado and this latest East Coast storm pulling the plug on half dozen states in under an hour? More than once I’ve thought of Midnight Sun, that old Twilight Zone episode about a heat wave that grows to tsunami like proportions. How’s that for a mixed metaphor? If only we could funnel some of this heaven’s water to Colorado Springs, and now Utah, as well.

I lay in bed and thrilled to the tat-a-tat-tat of the rain as it tap danced its way into the parched earth and watched from the window as the hydrangea leaves boogied under this novel occurrence called a downpour. Inch-deep puddles formed on the patio where just yesterday I fought to yank weeds wedged between flagstones hot enough to fry flapjacks.

Throwing back the covers, I went out and stood in the grey morning light, letting the rain dapple my sleep-crushed hair and lifted my face to the falling drops that felt sweetly reminiscent of my children’s fingers tapping my cheeks with love when they were babies.

In memory of Tillye Rosenfeld, who said, “Gonna rain” like nobody else.