It rained for a week. Maybe two. Gusting wind ripped the few remaining leaves from their branches and tossed them into the air. The leaves soared, danced, and fell to the street, sodden from the rain, where they stuck to the sidewalks. Water dripped from trees and eaves and ran in a torrent down the streets to the storm drains. Where it stopped because of the buildup of leaves and debris, backing up to flood the intersections. The mud in the chicken yard squelched underfoot and stank like wet chickens and worse, wet chicken poop. It made me thing of ogres. The pond came close to overflowing when a storm took out the power and the overflow pump stopped working. The cat sat in the doorway glaring at the rain through the screen door.
Then the clouds went away. The sun came out. The sky was blue. The birds sang. Buds swelled, close to bursting. Chickens danced and sang. The cat went outside. The patio was warm. I sat outside with a book, leaning back in the chair, my legs propped up on the patio table. The soporific effect of warm sun pulled me into a nap. I felt like a cat dozing in a spot of sun.
Then I realized I couldn’t see the words on the pages of my book. It wasn’t because I was reading with my eyes closed, dreaming about the book. My eyes ran with tears. Then the sneezing started. And the coughing. There was a tickle at the back of my throat. And my ears itched.
Pollen. I haven’t missed you.