This is why there are so many songs about rainbows.
Beyond “what’s on the other side.” Beyond “over.” Beyond whatever waits at the “end.” The simple and complex beauty; the dare-to-hope and hope-to-believe in what’s right in front of your face; the bigger-than and reach-out-and-touch-it — all of it, just at the tip of your fingers as you reach out… so close you can taste it.
We stood — the five of us, four humans and a dog — in the back yard, necks craned with heads falling backward, jaws hanging open. The boys held yogurt tubes to their mouths, still enjoying their evening snack as they experienced their first double rainbow. I ran back inside for my phone. I ran back inside for my camera. I switched back to the phone. I stopped and stared and marveled. I breathed in the fresh scent of sunshine after rain — after days of rain and storms and wind and rolling thunder and streaking lightening and maybe a pause in the rain and more rain and growing grass and rain rain rain rain rain.
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” exclaimed the younger one as we traipsed back inside. No, I suppose he hadn’t.
Later, after teeth brushings and pajama putting-ons and prayers and kisses and good-nights, I wrapped my arms around my husband’s neck. “I’m glad I got to see a double rainbow with you.” Our first, too. And then we sat, as we do in the summer, on the front porch, dog at our feet, a glass of wine and a bottle of beer. We sat together, quiet and peaceful, knowing that we witnessed something beautiful, something real.
Maybe… maybe we found it.