Cumberland

An hour ago the sun bathed this room in light, and now rain drenches a city that has gone quiet and I can hardly see the ink I'm scratching into the page. The weather turned quickly, just like it does in summer back home.

There's a hushed beauty to a rainstorm in the middle of the day. It invites pause, listening, and turning inward. Barack Obama has said he did his best work in the dim light of night because everything felt smaller then; it made the team more intimate, the problems more solvable. This rain shower feels intimate.

We'll be heading back to Minneapolis next month for some time together with our own team, that band of misfits that are our chosen family. One of our last times together as a group was a single hour, a few years ago, at a cabin deep in the Wisconsin woods. As dark clouds gathered in the sky we made our way onto a screened porch. One by one the kids - and not a few of the adults - drifted into afternoon naps. I looked around and realized we were all in the same room together. It hadn't happened in years and hasn't happened since. And then the rain began to fall. For a single hour, a perfect moment, together.

So I'm hoping for rain again this year. May we be so lucky.