A storm rolled in late yesterday – uncertain if it wanted to pour or spit or hang gauzy gray curtains. We dined at our favorite seafood place, the one under the bridge linking two islands. While we ate, a glittery rainbow showed itself without a hint of bashfulness. We must be inside the pot of gold, I thought. We dwelled in aching beauty for two or three minutes, knowing things can change quickly, and the rainbow faded into a powdery blue.

Two good people died yesterday. Our friends are gathering to mourn and celebrate resurrection. Shifting currents push against our moment of delicious food, good company, and a rainbow. We know death is in the pot as we savor each bite. We know this as the storm whips terns and gulls to their sides, and the Gulf reclaims the keys, at least for this night. The beauty and the ache are tangled up in gratitude.