Rain pours down from thick heavy clouds over Brooklyn, turning the shared backyards of all the buildings behind ours into a dark mini-jungle - trees dripping water, vines drinking it all in, their leafy hands up in supplication. It's a fast moving storm, too, so it's only a matter of a half-hour or so before we can see the sun coming out from the clouds from our kitchen, even as the sky remains dark and foreboding over the front of the house.
We've lived here long enough to know what that means, too: rainbows, and sure enough when we run to the front windows there's one of the brightest double rainbows I've ever seen arcing over the city to the east of us.
When I come downstairs just a few minutes later to forage for our dinner, the rain has stopped and the sky has almost completely cleared; the rainbow is gone, but the whole world has been cleaned and scrubbed, leaving the edges of everything sharp and precise and filled up to the top with light that threatens to spill over on the still-wet streets.
One year ago: Burying the Lede
Two years ago: Little Help?
Three years ago: Swearing in Brazil
Four years ago: Not Even the Worst that Happened Today
Eight years ago: Caitlin Rose Visits the Zoo
Nine years ago: