#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

River at night after rain

“How Beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain! . . .

~ Excerpt from “Rain in Summer,” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Again, the small hand and the small voice: Come. The sky, the clouds, the great outdoors of summer in morning is waiting. Damp grass and birds. I follow the Special One in my bare feet around the property behind the tractor, his own size, that he has learned to drive. There is some green in the grass and the evergreens and in the leaves of trees, and so much brown. Ferns crisped and flattened. I try not to look at all the brown. I avoid looking at the river, its stillness, its shrinking. No movement. It’s suffering. Then, into breakfast, and then I go off for a swim at the pond before walking Charlie. The pond is quite still, but fresher and cooler this morning; I am glad to be out early in the stillness. Then, Charlie gets his walk. My swim has given me energy and we enjoy the woods despite all the aching signs of drought. In the late afternoon, hope comes. The storm of rain and lightning and thunder. We are in the car on the highway running errands. The rain is thrashing and blinding for a bit. Thunder roars. I am so happy for this downpour. Later, after it stops, there a puddles everywhere! Puddles on the pavement, on the streets and in the driveway. I walk at dusk in the rain soaked grass to the river. First, to the brook to see if there is any water in it at all. No, but the bottom of the brook is black, not brown. It has soaked up rain. This is cause for celebration. Not the end of drought. But the hope of an ending. I tell the Special One the story of rain while we are riding through the roar and splash of the storm. How the sun evaporates the lakes and rivers and the water goes to the clouds and the clouds give it back to rivers and lakes, and we must thank the clouds for dropping all the water they have to drop today.