Waiting out the Weather
On patience.
We can’t seem to catch a break. Every Friday, right on schedule, the clouds roll in. All the flowers look amazing, but it’s getting a little silly at this point. To whom do we send our requests? Just one beach day, please!
Last week, on my birthday, I took O. to the MFA for the afternoon. As I pushed him in his stroller across the Fens, the wind started to pick up. We should hurry, buddy, I said, eyeing the clouds, increasingly less sure about our chances of making it before the skies opened up.
The first drops fell almost imperceptibly—uh oh, is that rain?—and then undeniably. We raced up a little hill and across the street, down the sidewalk toward the museum. Thank you, trees! I said aloud to the baby and the giant maples above us for the little bit of shelter they offered.
We made it to the back entrance—still closed!—and tucked ourselves into a dry space beneath the roofline. Another couple, along with their dog, sought shelter there, too.
How long will it be? one asked the other.
But no one answered. We all just waited until it seemed the sun was coming out again.