Waiting for Rain

It begins in early June. Thunderheads gather on the horizon. Their daily advance and retreat builds hope in every soul for a hundred miles around.

In April and May temperatures rise, humidity stays low. Winds become fierce as summer breaks free of spring’s grasp. One year, the wind stripped all but six buds from my Himalayan Musk rose bush. Even among climbing roses it’s a giant, smothering one corner of the house in delicate pink clouds, an annual display I look forward to every spring. The pain in my heart continues to this day.  

As erratic winters with sometimes stingy precipitation give way to arid springs, the heavy, moisture-laden air of summer hints to the coming relief. And then it arrives, anywhere from late June through mid-July, bringing rain through September. One July it rained nearly an inch every single day, and then nothing more until snow came.

In a good year, the surrounding pastures look like the picture in the header above. The valley greens. The land softens. The washed air sparkles in August’s late day suns. Beginning this week, the wait is over. The forecasts call for rain every day. I can turn off my sprinklers. Give my well a rest. Here comes thunder.

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