Rain. Days of rain. Soft, silent, falling on the roof, dripping on the breezeway, rolling down the gutters to pour in a constant stream out into the back yard, like a waterfall. Rain, heavy, heavier, heaviest, jumping the gutters, pouring, roaring like a roiling river, puddles becoming lakes, lakes rivers, endless, ceaseless. And growing alarm: Will it never stop?
And then it does and suddenly, a glimpse blue sky in an upside down world, the twin moons of lemons in the tree topsy-turvey now, a reversed fence and a curious Finn McCool in his through-the-looking glass world delicately stepping around the shimmering puddle to sniff the air and stare at the bright blue sky.
Happy Holidays to all.