Green a little greener.

It was about 4 billion degrees outside today, so we waited until after dinner to go for a walk. Violet rode in the wagon and Mad trailed behind with Wayland, collecting green june bugs along the way. We cooled our mosquito bites with the ice I'd brought for the girls; the ice melted nearly immediately on our overheated skin.

We were getting ready to circle around and head back home when suddenly the wind began gusting a little, rattling the dry summer leaves in a steady roar. I noticed a few minutes later that the sky behind us was deepening into gray, and as I opened my mouth to say, "I think it's going to rain," I caught that smell, wet earth sailing in on another gust of wind. Seconds later we felt the first drops, and then it began raining in earnest - light, but steady, and falling through the canopy of leaves so that the sunlight illuminated it in patches.
This was magical, this brief rain, thunder rumbling quietly somewhere far away. The green a little greener, our skin much cooler, the mosquitos hiding even for just a little bit. On the bridge the girls reveled in it, yelling "fast cat," as they ran the length and raised their arms to the enveloping sky.
On the way home, everything was sweeter. I found myself exhaling longer, deeper -- a sudden quiet, an easy letting go.