The dove returned with an olive branch.

Staring out in wonder at the violent storm around me, the city lost in a torrent; grey infinite, I'm at an ironic peace.  Red, White, Yellow, and Blue lights are trapped behind opaque cloud and immeasurable numbers of large soft drops,  whipped around by wind and crashing down to whatever lies beneath.   My hands on the rail in front of me, I curve my back, stretching my neck and ams, my hair dangling off my shoulders as I lean to watch the rain dive through the illumination of the streetlight below.  Some drops slash at my exposed skin, but then water streams like gentle caressing hands through my hair, down my arms, down my legs.  My shirt clings, pressing a beautiful, reaching coolness through me.  It's so nice to stand here, water flowing over me, almost shivering a little; relief.

Relief from the thick sticky air of the afternoon.

Relief from the monotony of a long, work filled week.

Relief from every emotion inside me, my heart is full of the rain, the fresh water is part of my smile, pouring into my mouth and I can even taste the quenching, satisfying, sweet relief.  I love the rain.

I love my roommate, Carla, who notices the lake forming in the parking lot below.  As the sky stops flashing, and the thunder is farther off, we race inside, struggle to slip our soaked feet and legs into trendy rubber boots, and race outside.  Jumping, splashing, screaming, racing through the puddle, which is nearly up to our knees, and many car lengths long, our laughs pierce the evening,

this is joy in the storm.  I loved watching her, folded into an abandoned shopping cart, sailing helplessly,  to the centre of the puddle, ripples and currents whirling behind the wheels that I've sent speeding away. I  [try to figure out the word I'm thinking of: not a graceful movement, but a messy, loud, topsy-turvy kind of exhausting frolicking....Carla looks at me, that look which I'm sure means "what on earth goes on inside your head...] 

I galumph through the waves as her vessel looses inertia.  She hops out.  

And later our red and black boots are emptied in the bathtub, which we end up sitting inside of, our clothes sopping wet and our hair dripping dry as we take photos and read children's stories, and make actions and sound effects for one-another.  

This is the kind of free-spirited, adventurous, living-in-the-moment, memory building ridiculousness that I love about our apartment. 

By morning, the lake had completely disappeared, and was replaced by hot pavement, with not a record of the night's festivities.   We spend the afternoon with cookies and icecream and chalk and bubbles and frisbees and guitars and beautiful young neighbours under immaculately warm rays, with an energetic breeze, and a smiling air which reminds me, despite whatver trials may come our way, why I LOVE dwelling here, and why I am so, so THANKFUL to be BLESSED by the Spirit, dwelling within in me.

It's been the kind of weekend that reminds me of floods and arks and rainbows and olive branches, and a dove that eventually, flies to find a thriving strong tree to call home.

My peace has deep roots.