The wet wet

It looks like we are in for a wet month. (When I spoke of the monsoon not coming I was speaking of Delhi and the areas around, not here.) The monsoon has taken it's real grip now, with tight fists and claws clambering up the mossy stones on our hill.  Everything is green!  Bright, shameless green.  There are ferns throwing themselves up under the trees in the forest, climbing right up onto the trees themselves and swarming over the trunks.  Moss growing between the stones and on the stones, which makes for careful climbing down the hills.  The corn on the terraces is taller than us now, and we walk in a narrow hallway, gently sprayed by the water that has collected on the tassels.

It would be a very green view, if we could see it.  Instead we are wrapped in a dense fog, almost all the time.  It clears up and then reasserts itself very quickly, and we are busy running in and out putting the clothes out to dry.  I have been washing the mold off different parts of the kitchen every day.

We compensate by turning the lights on even in the day, playing loud music and card games, reading in a pile.  We can still snuggle, because though it is wet, it is not hot.

When I think of how afraid I was, just a year ago, how displaced and terrified I felt, it is like a page turning.  I look at me now, weaving between cornstalks and sitting in auto rickshaws, and a whole different kind of light floods the inside of me.  I am so thankful.  I have come through fear into rest, and trusting God has been the only way through. It's another story to add to my stones of remembrance.