Waiting for rain

As I turned into our driveway at the end of our Sunday morning walk my feet crunched on dry dead leaves. “Wow,” I said to Jim, “it’s not even September and look at all of these fallen leaves.”


“I know,” he replied, “It’s been so dry. I guess that’s why the leaves are starting to fall.” We made our way up the long steep driveway in silence.


In mid-morning the skies darkened and the wind picked up. I stood hopefully on the front porch, my arms resting on the railing. After fifteen minutes the clouds dispersed and the sun came out. ? Rats.


Late afternoon found us ensconced in our rocking chairs on the front porch. The sky grumbled to itself. “Maybe we’ll get rain after all?” I ventured.


“Nah,” replied Jim. “The thunder is north of us. We rocked on in silence.


There it was! A solid crack of thunder to the west. Following the satisfyingly loud initial crack of thunder the sky rumbled on into silence. But no, here came the wind. It rolled across the porch bringing each of the wind chimes in turn to life. We waited. We rocked. Then it hit. We heard it coming in from the west. We breathed the fresh smell of the rain. It took over. It surrounded us. It pounded on the steel roof, filled and overflowed the gutter. It came down in sheets.


“I won’t have to water tonight,” Jim murmured.

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