The spring rain is falling in noisy sheets and waves. The day is gray. Water droplets caress the infant leaves of the maple tree outside the window.
Living in this house, my parent’s house, the house that I grew up in, rainy days bring this shadow memory.
On a day like this, Dad was in the house (rather than out in the garage). He stood over the stove top, stirring and stirring. He didn’t want the caramel creation to burn. I can remember the sweet smell of the air, the laughter and lightness in the goal.
The definition of “home”.
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Author: Michele Plumb Stowell
Michele Stowell was a teacher, a hand holder, and encouraging voice. Born an early Gen Xer, she has lived in Western Washington for the duration. Her children, two spectacular genetic daughters and an uncountable number of marvelous scout and school sons and daughters, shine as her biggest impact and her greatest blessing. Just before her 54th birthday, Michele was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Her writing and art work are expressions of the drama and the joy of living earth bound. On October 24, 2021, Michele was released from her physical body, transported to continue her work on other realms.
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micheleplumbstowell.org 