Even tonight, the rain falls heavily. When I saw it, when I woke, I thought, I will go out and enjoy getting wet. And, I did. And a conversation, while I walked, with my sister, catching up on all the days that have passed since we talked weeks ago. Charlie and I sloshed through the puddles, not noticing everything, except the anemones in bloom and the bark dipping into the swamp water, going away into its next life. Later, my brother called. He had talked to the oldest cousin of all of our cousins, on my mother’s side, and learned the bad news: my cousin Jaye, her sister, died last night. I was not shocked, but I was sad. We grew up together, and so, the flood of memories come, of childhood. I have not talked to Jaye in almost two years, the last time I saw her, a visit to her mother’s New Hampshire cabin where she spent summers after her mother’s death. She was not well then. But she was cheerful and hearty and self-sufficient. We raised some hell, had plenty of fun in that cabin as children and teens. Now, perhaps tomorrow, I will need to walk again in the rain and call both my sisters, and talk this loss over, because we will know what each other means. She was summers of childhood, as cousins are.