I'm remembering last week when the sky opened up like a lid being unlatched, water pouring down into the yard, everything green. Claire was on the couch. I was in the windowseat.
"We should go out there," she said.
I did hesitate, holding onto my dry self, my half-awake self
I stripped my jeans off, standing in black underwear and t-shirt in front of my kid.
"Yes," I said,
dashing for the door and out into the giant bucket of water, running through the puddled yard, shouting and screaming, circling around the house, weaving through the trees.
I lost Claire in all the green, then spotted her on top of the big stump. I stood with arms up, face up, giving myself up like a tree
I so want to give myself up, the unbending parts
Catching eyes with Claire we started running again, she leapt off the stump and out into the road in front of our house. It's a quiet street, off the beaten path. I met her there and stretched out beside her. Flat on our backs in the rain.
pelting rain and ground beneath us.
"I just feel so alive," I said.
"Same," Claire said.