
A Garden After the First Heavy Rain
The rain arrived before dawn and lasted long enough to soften the packed paths. By midmorning, the garden had become a collection of darker surfaces: wet cedar edging, blackened compost, and beds whose dry crust had disappeared. I walked slowly because each step left a clear print beside the stepping stones. The change in color made familiar plants easier to distinguish, especially the low leaves that usually blend into the dusty ground. A thin stream crossed the gravel path near the greenhouse. It did not flood anything, but it carried bits of leaf and a small seed pod toward a drain. I followed the water to see where it went. A shallow dip in the path held a bright reflection of the sky, while the raised border on either side kept the beds from washing outward. The garden's ordinary contours had become visible through the movement of rain. The broad leaves of the squash plants held round drops along their veins. Some drops rolled toward the stem, while others stayed at the tips until a breeze released them. I watched one leaf bend under the weight and spring back after the water slid away. The plant did not look fragile, but it responded to each small change in load and light. Near the herb bed, the soil smelled sharply of mint and earth. Rain had pressed the rosemary branches downward…
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