Beauty

So I'm on my way this morning to see my Mom. She's 93, and doesn't do the best job in the world of feeding herself. I cook breakfast for her every morning -- pancakes, sausage, omelettes, French toast, those kinds of things -- so I know she gets at least one decent meal every day. I'm bicycling, because I need the exercise and because it's a lovely late fall morning. The pavements, houses, trees, are all wet, because it rained last night, but there's lots of blue sky. Here and there. Between the clouds. Pedalling along, I look ahead, which is West, and I see a magnificent rainbow beyond the edge of town. Besides being beautiful, this is a hint to what is about to happen, because, you see, it takes rain to make a rainbow. That doesn't occur to me, as I pedal on. It occurs to me when the rain shower, which had made the rainbow, comes on into town to meet me. The shower starts suddenly, and gets heavy fast. All at once I'm wearing wet jeans, and a wet hoodie. I take shelter under a tree for a minute or so, and am reminded, standing there, that trees in the fall do not make good umbrellas. From under the tree, I look back the way I came, and I see the rain falling, all lit up by the morning sun behind me. It looks like countless tiny pieces of sunlight falling from the clouds. The rain eases off, and I get back on the bike and pedal off, standing on the pedals, moving fast. The breeze is cool in my face, there are a few raindrops still falling, and the freshly washed fall townscape is all lit up by the sun.

When I get to Mom's, I tell her about the shower that caught me on the way. I have a little trouble explaining to her why I'm glad I didn't drive.