HEAVENLY HUES

SUSANNAH H. SNOWDEN, MYSTIC, CONNECTICUT

A massive and dramatic thunderstorm had moved into Mystic, the picturesque seaport where I live. Charcoal-colored clouds suddenly let open, splashing fat drops of rain everywhere. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the downpour stopped. Bright rays of sun split the clouds.

I was standing in my kitchen with a friend and happened to peek out the window. I started to say, "There's going to be a rainbow ..." but didn't get to finish the sentence. A bright band of pastel colors was stretched across the sky, and I absolutely had to photograph it. I grabbed my camera and ran out the door. I live only a block from the Mystic River and maneuvered in the street until I had lined up the rainbow so that it appeared to end in the town's historical district.

I managed to snap off a few photographs before the hues faded back into blue sky. I was filled with joy as I strolled back home, recalling something Mary Baker Eddy once wrote: "Hold thy gaze to the light, and the iris of faith, more beautiful than the rainbow seen from my window at the close of a balmy autumnal day, will span thy heavens of thought" (Miscellaneous Writings 1883–1896, p. 355).

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