After the rain

I woke up at 5 this morning to the sounds of earth-shaking thunder. Car alarms were going off, and lightning was flashing through the heavy curtains in my bedroom, lighting up the entire room. It is that time in Miami, when Mother Nature gets temperamental and disagreeable, like a small child who needs a nap. The day did little to improve, except for a short, considerate respite coinciding with my morning commute. From then up until ten minutes ago, it seemed as if a hurricane was brewing outside my office window. The world outside is wet, even flooded in places, but the sun is starting to come out, slowly drying things off in nature's form of damage control. Today, this is my favorite part of the storm: the aftermath. Other days it is the crashing thunder and blinding lightning. But today, seeing the world so fresh and new (the Miami version of new snow, I suppose), it is easy to have hope that your troubles will evaporate like the puddles in the street below, to think that tomorrow is a day without mistakes or pettiness in it yet, and that life is a precious gift, meant to be held and loved, cuddled and cherished.