Coming out of a place where the sun don't shine, I found the sun was wonderfully bright this morning.
It was like something strange or like meeting an old girlfriend.
After a moment of ackwardness, there comes a rememberance of history shared.
Then it was joy. It was the damm sun. And a good cool north wind to boot, too, blowing as Lady and I rambled off.
For a change, the air did not feel like the Devil's sweat.
And mourning doves cooed, an especially beautiful sound this morning, on all sides as the family mutt and I rambled off, sidestepping remnants of the flooding last night carefully.
And a song kept going through my head, then I realized it was ``Here Comes the Sun,'' and I do not even like the Beatles.
But of course I found it on YouTube when we got back home.
OK, I am not a Beatles guy (Stones, Man), but I do like that photo of the Beatles.
My brain was befuddled, flusthered. I was up until 4 a.m. making sure the sump pump was working as best it could. Our last tornado warning came after midnight, so kids get to sleep in too this morning.
With my fried head, I missed much as Lady and I rambled off. Though there was a rabbit, a squirrel there, and several free-ranging housecats, those slaughtering machines.
Bullfrogs croaked around both old clay pits and the ditch to the east of the south pit. Our youngest son and I need to do a bullfrogging expedition.
A couple Canada goose familes swam on the north pit. The goslings are nearly as big as the adults. Life continues, storms or not, its inevitable path.
Wind and rain overnight rained down the mulberries from the trees. There were black splotches all over the east side of the south pit.
Back on the edge of town, half a dozen doves whistle-fluttered off from the grit area by the grain elevators.
On the side rail by the elevators (Hello, Charles Demuth), a boring line of cars waited. They were rusty and old, ready for grain I guess. They did not have any graffiti on them, which actually would have made them more attractive.
One of the town workers was collecting stuff on the main shopping block and I asked him if he had to get up in the middle of the night to help with flooding.
He said no, his father had died yesterday at a hospital on Chicago's North Side. You want to put some water in the basement in perspective, there's your perspective.
That's real life, real death.
Another free-ranging housecat, watiing for something to slaughter, roamed near some feeders near home. I restrained Lady.
In the back yard, I squished through water and checked the rain gauge: 3.6 inches. This is just getting out of hand.
But there is some perspective.