"After the Rains"

After the rain, after the heat, and now this sudden return of cold, the trees have darkened into a deeper green.

Some mornings the writing opens up again. You sit down expecting the usual wrestling match, but instead the sentences loosen, the revisions feel like play, and you catch yourself liking what you’ve written — and rewritten. It’s a small mercy, but it changes the whole room.

And when you finally look up from the page, the world has shifted too. After the rain, after the heat, and now this sudden return of cold, the trees have darkened into a deeper green. Not the bright, eager green of early spring, but something richer — a green that seems to hold the weather inside it. As if the leaves have absorbed the week’s moods and decided to wear them.
​
It feels right that the work and the world would sync like that for a moment. A morning when the page cooperates, and the trees deepen their color, and you remember why you keep showing up to both.

"To Kill a Mockingbird"