Is there anything more mystifying than a light rain shower in the warm sun? Where are you, you trickster cloud? Lingering plump above, making small puffs of vapor into the irradiated spring air. There you are, an awkward island in your empty blue ocean. Awkward and buxom, the forgotten bell of the ball. Blushing away into the corner of the sky, envious of the hot golden sun. You play peek-a-boo with the people below, hoping to steal away some of our adoration.
Your pinhead droplets are beading across windshields and sunglasses. We are undeterred by these slanted intrusions, in our march away from winter winds. Our footsteps carry us across steamy pavement, slick but unslipping. Each step takes us further from the shadows into a bathing white zenith.
And still you dawdle, growing to a bubbling billow in the thick convecting air. Your cumulus clumps are soft white cotton balls, neatly traced by dark grey marker lines. Exhaling your last tufts of mist, small lungfuls of your breaking soul, into the wind’s gentle current. Your tiny droplets swirl together into sun kisses. You are tracing connected dots into brilliant arches ahead of the horizon.
You’ve stolen the eyegaze of our sun worship, if only for a moment. Heads held high in the sunshine and cheeks peppered with soft wet kisses, we can now see through your prismic eye, a resigned paint stroke of dancing colors arched high where you used to hang.
We are paused in the phenomenon of something intersecting. Something that reminds us of transitions – the world turning unnoticed below our feet and the seasons ushering in a ceremony of change. You remind us to celebrate this blurry confusion of ‘betweens’ – that it’s ok to be two things at once. This is how we find grace in fleeting moments. This is the recipe for rainbows.
Paul Carreo 