It was a dark and stormy Rosh HaShanah. On the second day, we tried to get a few families together for tashlikh, the ceremony of casting bread crumbs representing sins into a river or similar body of water accompanied by readings about God casting our sins into the depths of the sea (Micah 7:19). The problem is, all over town we were in the second full day of rain.
All over town, that is, except my part of town on the far east side. We had been dry all day, but with water hanging above seemingly held back by the firmament for some appropriate moment yet to arrive.
Finally, abandoning the idea of going with other families, we decided to just go ourselves near the house to the Yellow River Park. There were a number of delays and issues, but finally we got out the door.
As we exited the car and walked the few hundred yards on a path to the river, I smelled the rain about to fall.