I was swinging in the hammock chair on the porch, watching the rain. Catching the lightning cut the sky, listening to the thunder crack. Noticing the brightness of the colours, even in the darkness of the weather. The clump of orange tulips, but not simply orange. Redorange and yelloworange with streaks of purple that creep down into the stems, standing against the green of the grass. All the green everywhere vibrant, the leaves on the trees just about bursting with colour and wet. All so new, so young, just barely unfurled from that secret winter place.

My bed is in the corner, inside the point where two outside walls meet, next to the window. Tonight the rain is unending. The rain and wind a steady rhythm swirling around my corner to put me to sleep. The rhythm a sad one. Sad, but good. Steady, reassuring, content.