ONE WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON IN MAY

Rain, the first good soaking since March. Just this morning, I set zinnias and petunias in the deep dry ground, under the heavy sky, hoping.

Later, in the house, with the rain falling steady past the kitchen window, while I waited for banana bread to bake,

the phone rang. It was a farmer I know who called to say that the pregnant onion I gave his wife years ago had a flower on it.

That was all, he said. He just wanted me to know. His corn was planted, hay fields seeded, the onion had a flower. That was all.