2002-06-06-10:14 p.m.

I finished working on my cabinet doors tonight and went out back to dump my paint thinner on a thorn bush. Near the thorn bush was a rainflower stem. Its seedcase had burst open and the triangular black seeds sat there in their separate compartments waiting for the wind to blow them away.

I really think the rainflowers tell the whole story of everything.

We never think about them until we see them. They're really called rain lilies and they're beautiful. They go from seed to bloom in less than twenty four hours and it only happens after a rain. We'll be stuck inside for hours feeling sorry for ourselves, listening to the thunder and to the big drops slapping the windows. I go to bed knowing there will be puddles the next day for splashing and that the grass will soon be green and thick. I never, ever think about the rainflowers until I see them.

The next morning I'll be calling someone to come in or I'll go out to sweep the porch and there they'll be - the rainflowers. Like little spots of snow hovering a foot above the ground. Little white promises scattered all over the yard, all over the field next to the yard, promises of life and green and growing things, promises among the sad, brown grass. Good things will happen, I know. The rain has come and now is the time for growing.

They don't last long, these slender-throated, sweet-smelling, gentle flowers. They bloom by the thousands and then fade just as quickly as they came. The children pick them by the handful and bring them to me, holding them behind their backs until I guess. I always put them in a vase, hoping they will last, but they don't. Their petals fold up and turn pink and shrivel into nothing. The ones in the yard shrivel, too, but that's not the end for them. If you look closely you can see the green swelling of the seed case. It will dry and pop open several days later, revealing lots of little black seeds.

The seeds don't give any clue to the beauty that is inside. They are flat and shiny and hard. I like to take them in my hand and run them between my fingers and let them fly on the wind. The rainflowers are gone now, but I know they'll be back. The ground will be dry and thirsty, and one day it will rain and I'll look out the window and be surprised at what I see.

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