i wash dishes. looking out the sunroom window, the bamboo starts to dip and bob. rain. i walk to the front door and the street is flowing. little man leaves his milk and peers out with me. we take an umbrella across the street to the girls and come back to finish washing up.
now it's night and the rain is over. the crickets chirp and trill their songs in the humid blackness. the kids are in bed. shinay is tidying up downstairs. i finish a half empty cup of cold coffee, abandoned hours ago in the morning jumble.
june, for some reason unknown, always makes me think of tibet. the grassland turning from brown to green. the afternoon storms that leave the hills around zhiduo dusted with snow. the gentle evening light after the storms pass.
