This morning I woke to the sound of rain. All day long the soft patter and heavy, gray clouds cocooned the house. The children slept late.

Early morning I drop off the car and walk back home. On the way, I find a stand of phlox, white petals set with a ring of purple. I stoop to inhale their fragrance. The odor reminds me of my grandmother, of the stem or two of phlox, sometimes white, sometimes lavender, that graced her summer breakfast table.

Storm warnings keep me home all day. I float through this day that has no schedule. A gift of time.

Late afternoon, I step outside, into a street cooled by the downpour. The air smells of mint, freshly washed.

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