We’re getting a good soak. A strong rinse. A fast-flowing chatter of drops gushing down gutters. Stampedes beyond boundaries of wet, laden, droopy wishes. Pouring over edges not previously considered.
And then the sun winks through.
My turn! My turn! Me me me! scream the weeds.
Yes, you, too, little Lives, I reply. But goodbye.
plumdirt 
And how…
I am grateful for the blue skies that are more plentiful than I’d been lead to believe. Way to get folks in Central Texas to be happy about the sun in mid-May, Meteorologist. Well played.
About play, starting with “Amok” there has been a rush, almost a gush, of well played words, sounds, images in your posts. Delightful to watch how a gardner self grows happily free and even a bit wild (like those flowers in the field).
😊