It's raining today. The steady, relentless kind of rain that falls in solid lines instead of drops. I hope it lasts for days.
I hadn't taken note until I woke to a chill, stealing through my open window and a bit later, the first sprinklings of rain, that this has been an unusually dry Spring. The "April showers" never came. In fact, here in mid-May we're getting our first steady rain.
The whole outdoors smells fresh and wormy, raw, new. I can have hope today, as the water works its salve on the wounded earth. All the lovely things beneath rock-hard soil are burgeoning, lying in wait to burst through dirt, through stems, through tightly shut buds on tree branch.
Yesterday I was withering with the grass, scattering to the winds like the chalky earth. Today I will be silent and wait. I am being fed.