Listen to the rhythm

I drove home through one of those glorious midwest downpours that I missed so much during my 25 years in California. Warm Spring air outside, big drops of rain splashing lazily down, making a splat the size of a silver dollar when they land on the windshield. Distant rumble of thunder along with the occasional flash just out of the edge of my peripheral vision. Then, when I came home, a beautiful double rainbow available for viewing off the deck out back.

The ends of the rainbows were in my back yard. That's fitting. I didn't come here for money or career advances or all of those things I pursued in Beverly Hills, Century City, Los Angeles, Burbank, et al. I came here looking for a home with my family and, lo and behold, the rainbows pointed that out to me.

The stress of the work day, the week, is gone. There is only peace and warmth and warm skin waiting for me in my bed.