I drove across the state of Kansas in the rain yesterday. Not all the way across, but from the far west to the Flint Hills, which is quite a lot of driving. It started raining Saturday morning in Dodge City and the natives were out on bended knee, arms reaching toward the sky, faces drinking in the rain. People in western Kansas are always thankful for the rain.
We crossed the Arkansas River at one point, and I had to point it out to the kids. The weeds were deep and thick. Trees of all shapes and sizes filled the river bed. "Where's the water?" they asked. And I said, "Exactly." This is why the hubby and I still get giddy at the site of water. This is why the Cottonwood River, where we live now, topping its banks is so mesmerizing to us.
The sky was filled with so many shades of gray yesterday. We experienced everything from big slow drops of rain to fast pittering sprinkles. I'd switch the windshield wipers from a delayed rhythm designed to wipe away the mist to the quick swish-swish to wipe away the hard, driving rain. We saw curtains of water in the distance that changed the sky from silver-gray to purple-blue. There were periods where far-off lightening shows entertained us. Occasionally, the sun would sneak through, lighting up giant clouds of fluffy white and sending the colors of rainbows dancing to the ground.
The kids drifted in and out of quiet. Four days of adventures with cousins, sleeping in beds that were not their own had left them subdued and without a lot to talk about. The hours at the wheel gave me much needed time to sit quietly in my mind, to reflect, to process the events of the long weekend.
As we neared the end of the journey, the biggest rainbow yet seemed to be pointing directly to the place I now call home.