Just Across the River

 I spent the evening with friends, high atop a hill on a farm near Lambertville.

As the evening ended, the skies opened up and rain fell in buckets.

The heaviness of the heat and humidity cleared so beautifully.

Almost instantaneously.

I drove home through heavy rain slowly, slowly.

Across the river and on the other side of the bridge there was no rain. 

As if there never had been.

I climbed out of my car. 

Heaviness hit me like a wall.

Heat.

Humidity so thick the air felt impenetrable as I walked to my front door.

But now, as I sit in my kitchen writing, I hear rain singing in the night and

Even indoors the oppressive heaviness lifts.

Creating Space: Three Months of Showing Up for What's Showing Up is a daily writing practice. Turns out that a lot of this writing explores the landscape of grief. My mother died shortly before I began this writing, and this is what I'm thinking about most of the time these days.

Katherine Cartwright has been blogging since 2012, and each year brings new wonders. She asks big questions of the small things in life.