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61 The Madman’s Divining Time After the rain, we walked out onto the patio.The air was still wet and the bark of the fat pine tree was streaked with hits and misses. I’ve never seen our backyard so green and liquid. Mona checked her plants to see if the passing shower gave them anything at all. She worked her thumbs into the pots of petunias, pansies, marigolds whatever they were, a wild palate of color mixed and matched by a madman. He has a plan for us, Mona said. With each shower he carves us up into little pieces and shows us colors we never knew we were. I looked down at the thin puddle on the porch. In the twilight I was a muddle of ruddy bumps and sandy dribbles of gray hair. Mona, of course, showed herself in blues and oranges, ochre, velvety red, peach, jasmine and touches of deep purple where the setting sun steals the other colors 62 away. Maybe, if I worked the dirt up under my fingernails, there would be hope for me. Mona had already left the deck and soared off into the leftover sunshine to dance with that fiend. ...

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