Small Mercies

Germany is almost finished with what is set to be the driest spring in over a century. The news has described the whole season as summery. If so, then it's been the summer of love for the trees and grass on these hills. The plants have been spewing pollen like their Eyjafjallajökull (yes, I copied and pasted that), with few showers to wash the earth (and the cars, and the deck chairs, and anything else I left outside) clean. And for our household allergy sufferers (my wife and myself - my daughter, not yet, but genetically, she's doomed) it's been pretty nasty. During the afternoons, I feel like Godzilla emerged from the river to make my nose itch.

But this morning, rejoice, there was a rainstorm. It was a Godsend, and I mean that. It was as if the earth was given a million little baptisms, wiping away the pollen - not to mention my itchy, goopy tears. Afterwards, the air was so clear and fresh and revitalizing - it's like the feeling the commercials tell you you'll get from deodorant soap. It was a gift, and I needed it today. I needed the energy, the clean oxygen, the clear head and the ability to keep my nerve (I love it when I have that!). I needed it because we visited a place that must be in violation of the Geneva convention.