A bead of sweat fell off his forehead onto the inside of the glass face shield as he reached for the red button. He pressed it. A whoosh of air bounced him toward the open airlock and blew him out in the vacuum of space. Then silence as he drifted out and away from the space ship. Strips of glass and debris flew away from the station as pieces of the asteroid broke it apart.

And then he was flying into nothing. He checked the regulator on his suit. Less than 17 minutes of breathable air. He moved his hand to wipe away the sweat. It was no use. He forgot he couldn’t touch his forehead.

The nothing enveloped him as he floated farther away from the destruction. The light of stars and the moon grew brighter in the dark.

Earth filled a mirror attached to his sleeve. A rocket spun him around to look at the blue marble in space.

He stared at the oceans until the alarm went off on his respirator. He took a quick gasp and reached. Home was close enough to touch.

After months of snow, the thaw arrived as if the weather knew we needed to leave the house. The ice melted into the creek adding riffles around the boulders and the fallen log. The spring rains added puddles in the field of melting snow. Clouds rolled over the pines and sunlight refracted in the ice. Steam rose up from the meadow.

The air outside made my arms shiver. Yet, I left my coat inside. It felt good to strip off the bundles of heat and feel lighter. My mother pushed my sisters out into the melting snow. Bundled up in their jackets and mittens, each girl hesitated under the maple waiting for the porcupine to rain needles down on them. The prickly animal held us hostage for two weeks raining down needles whenever we walked under the tree. Now, the porcupine was gone and the girls ran over to me in the slushy snow.

New leaves poked through the ice melting off the tree limbs. Daffodils and tulips bloomed next to the house. Children shoes melted the grass below. Each blade of matted grass popped up through the shoe print free of its winter blanket.

As the sun shone brighter, a rainbow arched through the sky landing on the far side of the meadow. The colors rippled through the ice melt. We stood astonished.

“There is a pot of gold at the end of that rainbow,” said mother.

“Really?” I asked.

My youngest sister Carrie put a hand around my leg. The other two kicked the snow.

“Do you want to find it?”

Carrie looked at mother from behind my leg. “Can we?” I waited for her answer too.

“Why not.”

Mother smiled and led us down the walk. She handed me my jacket. The patch on the sleeve pealed up showing the fluff inside. I had tried to burn a hole through the sleeve at the start of winter by leaning on a standpipe stove. If I was lucky, I’d outgrow it soon and one of my sisters would have to patch it.

Mother pushed us forward and started off across the meadow. We followed her. All of us were talking at the same time and glad to be out of the house.

Near the turnaround, the snow piled higher where father had pushed the snow off the driveway with the station wagon. He took a piece of corrugated roofing metal and made a makeshift plow on the front of the Country Squire. He spent more than two hours slipping back and forth in the car moving the snow. A storm then piled up another coat for him to move a week later.

We climbed over the snow pile into the meadow. I looked for the end of the rainbow. It moved slightly north but otherwise landed in about the same place at the far end of the meadow behind a stand of junipers. I ran through the melting snow drifts catching my boots and covering my pants with melted snow and ice. I stopped to catch my breathe. Moisture streamed out of my mouth forming a cloud in front of my face.

I waited for my mother and sisters to catch up. My sisters looked like three bears being led by a circus handler. Carrie fell in the snow and mother picked her up in the middle setting her down in the meadow. Donna clung to mother’s leg and Debbie looked back at the house.

Two brothers built homes in the bottom of the valley before 1900. We rented the biggest house away from the trees. The second house stood empty near the creek full of trout hiding in pools. The paved road was at least a mile uphill from us and father tried to keep the road out of the valley clear with the makeshift plow. There was always snow on the road. In December, the temperature barely reached zero during the day and dropped to -35 at night. Now in March, the temperature hovered around 40 degrees. Still cold, but much warmer than a few months ago.

Mother grew up on a ranch near the Mexico border where the hot days made life unbearable in summer. She preferred the heat disliking the winter cold. She never seemed to adjust to the northern weather. For me, it was just another adventure and I imagined we were winter explorers looking for a frozen treasure cache.

“Years ago a family of flowers lived in this meadow,” said mother.

I stomped on the clumps of snow in the grass. Behind me, my sisters marched across the field with mother as if they were confident she spoke the truth. Carrie mashed the clumps of snow flattening them in the grass. She held onto mother’s hand.

“It sounds lovely,” she said.

“This is just a spring story, right?” I asked.

“They certainly loved spring,” said mother.

“I think you’re just getting us to take a walk outside.”

“We certainly have been cooped up in there,” said mother. “It doesn’t hurt to blow out the cobwebs occasionally.”

The three girls wore dresses made from the same gingham cloth mother found in town. She sowed up each one a dress before Thanksgiving. Donna, in the middle, stood taller than her older sister Debbie and much taller than the baby, Carrie. Debbie and Donna could have been twins if it weren’t for Donna’s brown hair and growth spurt. All three were very close and that left me as the only boy. I found myself spending a lot of time alone. Today, was one of the few times we went together for a walk. And this time, we were on a proper adventure.

“The rainbow moved,” I said.

Dark clouds closed around the trees on the far side of the meadow. The rainbow faded before returning slightly west of its last spot. Red, blue, green, and yellow light streamed up and over the trees.

“The flower family moved their pot of gold to hide it,” said mother.

“We’d better hurry,” shouted Donna.

The girls tore away from mother and ran past me on their way to the clump of trees. Carrie stumbled and fell next to me. I grabbed her hand and pulled her up. We ran after my sisters. Mother continued to walk slowly behind us. She stopped to look around her at the mix of clouds rushing out winter and bringing in spring. She pulled her sweater closer to her chest.

“Hold your sister’s hand Michael,” shouted Mother. I slowed down to let Carrie catch up. Then picked her up and scooted up to a rise in the meadow. On the other side, Donna and Debbie ran toward a group of Junipers. They slipped under a barbed-wire fence and ran down to the trees. I helped Carrie under the wires. Together we ran to meet up with the other two.

“Mom was right,” said Debbie. She pointed at a crushed pot rusted under the base of the closest tree.

“But we are too late,” said Donna.

I picked up the broken pot and a rusted piece fell on the ground. Mother walked up behind us.

“The flower family must have heard us coming,” she said. “And they scooped up their treasure before we could get here.”

I dropped the rusted pot. It bounced under the Juniper before landing nearly in the same spot where I had found it. My sisters wrapped around mother each jockeying for a hug. Mother smiled at her girls and then at me.

I looked back and gave her a smile. In that moment, I was sure the flower family was as happy as me.

 

Thomas reached for the honey and then the cinnamon. Mary claimed combining the two would result in a diabetes cure. Anything to keep Mary happy. His scores slowly climbed up the scale based on the four recent blood tests. It almost became a given: his sugar scores would go up and he would be that much closer to taking insulin. Oh, his kidneys now excreted protein. When does this disease take over and I can die?

He dabbed the honey-cinnamon on his toast. Another thing he wasn’t supposed to eat. But he liked the toast with his morning coffee. Might as well enjoy myself If I’m going to die anyway. He took a bite and then washed it with the black coffee. At least he had left out the sugar and cream. Black coffee really doesn’t taste very good.

He picked up the newspaper and turned to the second section to find a full-page ad for a diabetes clinic. Maybe he should take a look. He took another bite of his cinnamon toast and turned the page.

Image: Wikimedia

Miles played with the lens ring waiting for a moment of light to stream across his viewfinder. Presently, he was sitting on a precipice overlooking the Yosemite Valley waiting for Horsetail Fall to light up red like fire. And it seemed everyone had the same idea. He pushed out a bit farther in an attempt to feel closer to El Capitain.

The February winter wind blew up the canyon buffeting his face. He decided his checks where as red as the approaching fire fall. His perch on the ledge drew a crowd and now his solace had been interrupted by shouting from the selfie crowd wanting him to turn closer to them. He waved. He kicked his legs. He even made a clown face.

“Jump off,” someone yelled. Why would they do that? It must be a couple football fields to the bottom. Idiots.

He looked to the west. Thin clouds hid the sun. Not good. He needed more light. The snowfall had been intense so far. Was it warm enough for the falls to even run? He looked over at the waterfall. It seemed to be flowing a little bit. It needed more water to make a spectacular photo. He looked back at the sun. A few hours to go. Maybe things would pick up.

The cold wind numbed his nose. He breathed into his hands. The sun hid behind the clouds and it suddenly seemed much colder.

“Oh no,” a girl cried behind him. He turned to see two legs skidding toward the cliff. He snapped a few pictures until it looked a bit dicey.

He climbed up, tossed his camera over his shoulder, and ran to the girl.

She looked like a small tick poking out of the hood of a blue parka. She wore matching gloves. It was the sort of coat a tourist would wear to a ski lodge.

Miles climbed behind and pulled her up.

“There’s no après ski around here.”

She giggled. Am I flirting. He brushed off her coat making sure she was steady.

“That’s a long way down,” she said.

Miles looked over the edge. He hadn’t noticed the rocks at the bottom.

“Yep. It might hurt if you fell.”

Despite the coat, the girl seemed cold. She jumped in place closer to the edge.

“Maybe you stand back.”

“I’m Jenny.” She offered a gloved hand toward his. He pulled her closer. A smile curled up around her eye.

“You’re a photographer?”

“Waiting on the falls to catch on fire.”

“I hear it’s not to miss.”

She waited for him to continue the conversation. He fiddled with his camera.

“Too many tourists?”

“I’m just used to wandering out alone without all the distractions.” Miles caught her narrowing her eyes a bit.

“Oh, I was glad to help you up.”

“I slipped a bit. I’m supposed to be up there with them.” Jenny pointed at a group of girls also dressed in padded coats.

“Are you visiting from the city?”

“Fresno. We wanted to do something in nature.”

“This is about as close as you can get. Muir called this the Range of Light.” The sun was still behind the clouds. Not much light was shining anywhere. Miles wondered if the falls would be lit.

“A long time ago they used to toss fire off the top of the falls. One of the park rangers stopped it,” Miles said. “Too much like Disneyland, I guess.”

“Then one day a guy named Rowell caught the falls just right and it looked like a fire fall.” Jenny drew closer.

“It only happens in February when the water is flowing and the light is just right.” Miles stopped talking. He thought he was coming across as some sort of tour guide.

“We just heard it was not to miss,” Jenny said. “Do you think we’ll see it?”

“If the sun pokes out from behind those clouds. Down there, I was closer.”

Miles pointed at the rock ledge he was sitting on before Jenny slid through the ice. The sun was starting to set. If he hurried, he might frame up an exceptional photo.

“You might take a good picture here.” Miles doubted it. The ledge hid the crowds and was more remote. He also left his tripod down there. He really should get back to his photo.

“Besides, my friends are gone.” Sure enough, her friends had walked farther down the trail and closer to the falls.

“Let me get my tripod and I’ll be right back.”

Miles jumped over a few rocks down to the ledge. He grabbed his tripod, scrambled up over the rocks and tree roots, until he stood next to Jenny again.

She looked out over the valley at the falls. He followed her gaze and saw just a brief flash of red light streaming down the rock face. Then the cloud covered the sun and the fire fall ended.

“It was something to see.” she said.

Miles fiddled with the exposure knob on his camera. He had missed it. He reached for her gloved hand.

“Tell me how you felt when the water fall lit up.” Jenny took his hand and moved away from the wind rushing up the canyon wall as the setting sun turned the meadows in Yosemite a shade of orange.