I stood at the top of the field and watched the rain come. At first just a low cloud, far away. As it approached, I could see it falling, slanting down in perfect sheets over the valley, obscuring the mountains beyond like a thin curtain drawn over some miraculous and achingly beautiful image. The cloud covered the sun as it came, and I stood in dim, drenching evening. The grass flickered in rainfall. The mountains, my mountains, half-hidden behind their veil of watered sky, called – tugging at my soul. Even through the rain, they were not conquered. My own corner of paradise still shone. And then as I watched, the cloud parted. The sun broke through the veil, shining out over the mountains, sinking into cloud and spending its last rays on the glory of the rain. The water became falling gold.
And I turned, called back by house and home, unwilling to relinquish my glimpse of forever. And as I turned, I saw.
There was a rainbow over my mountain this evening. A promise. And it was beautiful.