Dry

Middle of September.  104 degrees.  Yard watering restrictions.  Joseph and I, walking to his bus stop Friday morning, saw a cloud of dust ahead.  It was someone mowing their lawn.  Well, their lawn, and some of the dirt that was showing through in places.  I haven’t had to mow our front lawn for two weeks because it is only nominally alive and isn’t really growing.

We almost had some rain a few days ago, from the tail end of hurricane Norbert.  There were some fantastic clouds, some of them dark.  Peter and I were over at my parents house playing a game of Rummikub with my mom when we all heard a noise.  We thought maybe it was a squirrel cracking a nut on the metal veranda or something like that.  Then we all realized it was the sound of rain, big drops of rain, coming down sporadically.  I went out there and stood in it.  Hardly even got wet, though.

On other topics, we found a counselor who Peter is willing to talk with.   Not much else to report.  Feeling a bit dry myself.  It’s got to rain soon.  Nice, billowy clouds, gentle pitter patter, wet ground, oh the smell of dripping leaves and puddling soil!  Umbrellas!  Wet shoes!  Displaced earthworms slithering across the sidewalk!  Windshield wipers!  Is it ever going to rain again??

Probably not for a month or two.  Or three.  Why does it always feel as if we’re waiting.  For the rain.  For Peter’s healing.  For Silas’s job.  For inner rain.

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