I feel the misters on my shins, my forearms. I am indulging in them even though it’s not that hot today. I shrink from brightness, await our second lime green umbrella. What next? Iced tea, I think, maybe do a tray load of dishes. Nothing lasts long. Every act is full of hope, though, hope that if I lay down enough small acts one after the other then one day down the road there will be hearty paths and places to rest beside them, where all you need to do is sit and feel the quiet peace of the place, and there is no dissonance in you, only rest and ease. Enough small acts all in a row, then the oasis. Here’s to watering time.