We were sitting out on our big screen porch not doing much of anything, mostly just looking out at the yard, talking over the sweaty work we’d done there during the weekend. We’d spent some time in my much-neglected patio herb/flower garden pulling weeds and transplanting the orphan zinnias–now in the third or fourth year since the first planting, they had scattered their own seeds hither and yon and so brought a rather haphazard appearance to my (originally) well-planned garden. In fact, several danced way beyond the borders, their unbridled enthusiasm contagious if unkempt. I knew I needed to tidy up a bit. (It was getting out of hand.) Still it seems to me a flower that hell-bent on growing deserves every chance at success. Thus, the transplanting.
Anyway, I was sitting back in my white wicker armchair with a chilly Blue Moon when out of nowhere it started to rain. Just a sprinkle, at first, the kind of pitter patter that had us looking at each other saying Where did that come from? And then it came harder, more intense. The sky to the east was dark, a large bank of clouds spreading tree line to lake. To the west, though, was sun, pouring over and into our little portion of the earth like it was the very last chance it’d have to shine.
I’ll bet there’s a rainbow somewhere I said to Tim, loving this time, relishing the ordinary-ness of these moments, grateful there was not a big problem to be discussed or solved or managed. Just us, looking out over this yard, together.
Then just like that a rainbow appeared! Majestic and magical, arching over Bickley’s Pond.
Look at that! I said. And we did, counting the colors in the spectrum.
Then a bright yellow canoe paddled out from behind the trees at the bend in the cove, taking remarkable to extraordinary.
You couldn’t have planned that I said, and Tim agreed, and we sat there, looking at the pond, thinking how gorgeous it is to be alive, to live here on this pond, to be a witness to everyday miracles.