Suddenly, it was all too much. I laughed as my arm made a sweeping gesture to indicate the entire outdoors. Dazzling remainders of hail sparkled on the aspens, the lodgepole pines, the blue spruce. Our dry grass was spotted with white. The tender shoots of our perennials glistened with unaccustomed wetness.
“Hell has frozen over,” I announced. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not talking to the Journal.”
Tom added water to the coffee machine. “You’re sounding slightly bitter this morning. Here’s some good news, though. The hail helped the firefighters get that blaze out in the preserve. Unfortunately, with more dry weather on the way, they’re warning that the fire danger is still high. Okay, how many shots of espresso would you like?”
“I’ll take a double, thanks.” Ordinarily I would have had
