in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011
Clover lays her wet head on my leg. The sprinklers got her. She tries to stay out of their way, playing can’t-catch-me, but when the timer activates a new sprinkler section in the yard, she gets caught unaware. She’s soaked.
Now, Polo, on the other hand. The sprinklers are her nemesis. She is determined to conquer them. She perches beside the static one–the one low to the ground–slurps up as much water as she can, then darts away. She’s soaked.
This year we’ve got to make our own water. The sky clouds up and doesn’t pour. We pray for rain, but run the sprinklers.
