Down by
the arroyo, the rain continued, as trees and wildflowers and undergrowth were
the celebrants, shifting quickly from drought-style enduring to rain-upon-the
-parched-ground reveling.
The swallows dipped and swung by, relishing the
explosion of insects, as two Eagles played in the air overhead before flying
off to find breakfast.
So I did find myself turning 64, surrounded by welcome
rains
and the rushing old river and the unfathomness of endless skies.
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