Delicate Miracle

I've been in Las Vegas the last few days, taking care of my mama after her knee surgery. She is recovering faster than we expected and would probably be up dancing if I wasn't here demanding that she rest.

I was dreading the "dry heat" of Vegas summer, but we've been blessed with cooler temperatures because of the rains. Rainy summer evenings are one thing I do miss about this place. The smell of the damp desert earth rising with the heat reminds me of my childhood summers. The sound of cicadas with their constant humming strikes a chord with me, like some comforting sound therapy.

A barefoot walk in the grass after the rain helps me to ground myself in this place that I used to call home. My ankles itch from the tall blades.

After lots of prayer and negotiation, I have finally managed to get my mama and both of my brothers together in one place for the first time in four years. (It's a long story.) I am in quiet disbelief as we sit piled onto my mama's bed browsing through old black and white family photos from Poland. I want to jump and cheer for this momentous gathering, but I don't want to break the peace of the moment or disrupt whatever delicate miracle is keeping us all here. So instead I smile to myself and give thanks for rainy Vegas summer nights.