All the way home the sky rains and suns itself but the clouds are too heavy for a rainbow.
We are in the thick of spring now. The infectious yellow fields, the corpses of wasps and bumblebees on our beige carpet; the sun hungry nettles and dandilions, overshadowing our delicate jasmine and proud first garlic.
I keep wanting to stop the car and get out to stand knee deep in spring and breathe in its heady honey smell until I am sticky with it.
But I don't. I keep driving. And write furiously in my head, the throbbing fields over and over again until I'm home.
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