Hippies and Rainbows

A loud knock on the window startled me from my blogging state at my second-favorite coffee shop.

I turned, meeting the gazes of 4 or 5 smiling hippies. Pink hair, piercings, tight pants, dreadlocks.

One of them made eye contact, pointed to a bumper sticker he was holding against the glass, and gave me a thumbs up. It read: "Now is all you have."

I smiled and resumed typing.

The sun quickly gave way to a down pour. I turned again, and watched as two of the hippies danced in the rain. They held to each other tightly, twirling under the raindrops. They both paused under a tree branch, tipped their heads back, letting the drops crash on their cheeks and chin.

I've sat at this window many times, marveling at the bright colors of Eugene. Raincoats, umbrellas, face paint, the purple overhang of the store across the street, hairstyles, flowing scarves, woven purses, even the elderly woman sitting at the opposite table with her box of sharpened colored pencils. She diligently sketches seed pods, carefully examining their intricate parts.

The sun made an appearance again, revealing one of the brightest rainbows I've ever seen. Conversations hushed as patrons peered out the window.

The colored pencil woman wondered out loud what the different colors meant and suggested they might mean something different for everyone.

As for me, they renew a promise that was made long, long ago.