Two may talk and one may hear,
but three cannot take part in a
conversation of the most sincere
and searching kind.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
The house is so very quiet as I sit here at my kitchen window watching the tiny drops of rain hit the ground, I am smiling and feel an overwhelming sense of security and love. This is not because of the rain (even though I am extremely grateful for every last drop) but at the scene I see taking place in the lane way.
I see our truck driving up the lane between the two burned brown fields waiting for the rain to bring them back to life. M, who is down for her cousins wedding, and her Dad (My Hero) stop in the barnyard and sit watching the light rain bounce off the hood of the truck. I can see them both smiling, I watch as they both laugh at the same time, possibly at a joke I may never hear. They are now deep in conversation; I can tell by the serious look on their faces.
M and My Hero had drove to the back of the farm to see if it was raining harder back there, we could see from this big window what looked like torrential downpours about a mile back. They asked if I wanted to go but I declined, I know from experience how special time with your Dad can be and I wanted them to share it without me. M did not know how bad this drought was affecting life on the farm until she had seen it with her own eyes. I can only imagine their conversation.
Sitting here watching the rain and watching them, I remember the deep conversations my Dad and I had shared; this seems so very long ago now. I would not trade that time for anything.
Conversations that will last forever. Conversations of life, learning, and memories.