glimmers from a tired girl.

I wake up to the sound of rain.

No, that can’t be right.

I close my eyes and try this again. And sure enough, when I open them, it’s still raining.

I try to get up. It takes a while, as first I have to relocate my fluffy Siamese cat from her perch in the crook of my arm and dislodge my leg from under the Great Pyrenees still snoring at the foot of the bed. He grumbles as I move, but does not wake. I pull open the curtains (they are blackout as I am a city cat) and gasp dramatically at the sight of a steady storm.

It’s raining again. I tell my husband.

This must be what it feels like to live in Seattle. He replies with a chuckle.

Our typical weather in July is hot and dry. Some have described it as brutal, and that’s probably true for some. Last summer we didn’t see a drop of rain from May to September, an occurrence that is probably going to be more common than not in the upcoming decades. It was over one hundred degrees for weeks at a time, and when those first drops of rain did finally fall, I sat on the steps and cried happy tears.

This year is different.

Hurricane Beryl has made his arrival in Texas. The weather app informs me.

I look out the window again. It sure has.

I am too far North to be impacted by the hurricane itself. By the time it reaches my city, it has trickled down to a tropical storm or less.

I look out at the garden, a small patch of dirt in which I threw some seeds a few months ago, and feel joy that it’s getting a good soak. Clusters of zinnias and cosmos and sunflowers (one of which seems to have gotten tired of holding up her big head, and has gently face-planted into the earth) relax as they no longer feel the stress of drought.

I feel joy that we are getting rain.

I am so happy for the garden and the grass and the wildlife; and honestly, for myself that I am not outside watering the foundation of my house today.

I am grateful and guilty and worried.

I am worried for the people in Houston, a city only a few hours south of mine, that is being ravaged by this same storm that is bringing me the aforementioned joy.

Rain is a fickle guest in a swamp town, and she so often overstays her welcome.

There is flooding and devastation and of course, no power.

I read online that people are tracking the power outages in the Whataburger app, by checking what stores are open and which aren’t. Every detail of this situation feels so inherently Texan.

I feel grateful that I am safe, this time. That I have power, this time.

I feel guilty that I am safe, this time. That I have power, this time.

I struggle to process the knowledge that an event that is bringing me joy and good fortune is concurrently ruining someone’s day at best, and destroying their life at worst.

I sip my coffee and open the window.

What an unusual summer. My husband comments. He is so very right, in more ways than one.

This unusual summer is one for the books, for all of us in one way or another, of that I am sure.

I hope that in these days in which we crave the unprecedented you are finding moments of peace and even boredom.

I hope you are safe, and thriving. And more than anything, I hope you vote.

I sit down and decided to reread one of my favorite poems. One that feels so very fitting for this unusual summer.

Let July Be July

Morgan Harper Nichols.

Even here, you are growing.

When August is approaching

and you feel a little restless

thinking about how

this month might end

and how

this year might end

and how you are supposed to

start again,

you are growing,

you are growing,

in grace

courage

strength.

And it is okay

if it does not feel like it.

It is okay if there are moments

where you cannot see

the way you have grown,

because far beneath the surface

the seeds have still been sown.

The ground beneath your feet

is still a bed for new beginnings.

So much is changing around you 

but you are changing, too.

You are so much more than the brokenness

that you were certain would define you.

It has not been easy for you.

You have worked so hard

to be the positive one.

You have given your best

in areas of your life

where the effort was not returned. 

And this has made it so hard

for you to keep going,

and there have been days

where you were not sure

if it was even possible.

But after everything,

here you are,

just a little stronger,

holding on a little longer,

and you still found room for hope. 

So take heart

breathe deep

you are still becoming

who you were meant to be.

Let July be July.

Let August be August.

And let yourself

just be

even in

the uncertainty.

You don’t have to fix

everything.

You don’t have solve

everything.

And you can still

find peace

and grow

in the wild

of changing things.

- Morgan Harper Nichols.

If you are able and willing here is the link to donate to the Red Cross. They are currently helping with Hurricane Beryl relief. It would mean the world to so many.