Sunset light caught the tender reddish leaves sprouting on the pomegranate tree, lovely against the mostly cloudy sky and the remains of the ornamental pear blossoms in the background.
This is a light only seen when the weather is unsettled; the sun is gentler, the sky softer. The leaves are a color only seen in spring, before the photosynthesis machine hits high gear, and green -- thick, tough green -- becomes the color of the day.
My son-in-law and I ran out onto the porch this afternoon to watch the heavens open up and a deluge of rain pour down, in one of the heaviest storms we've seen this year. We couldn't even go to the edge of the porch without being soaked; water was standing three inches deep on the south side of the house. I'd been out in the studio in the garage, working away at a sketch, and heard the sound of the weather change from pattering rain to a roar -- I think I have to run and see what new entertainment has been provided, and so I raced through the house to the front door so that I could see it without getting completely soaked.
It's Spring, and everything from the constellations to the atmosphere, the trees' branches to the tiny weed seeds in the soaked earth are telling us a story.
After every Winter, it's a story that I love to hear, over and over again.