When the world is hot and my skin is fried, scratching from the constant dry, let the clouds boil up, boil up high, and then shade the earth with the darkening sky and bring the secrets and the smell of rain. The coolness and the blessed rain, again.
Our land is brown but blessed, stressed in the heat, the shiny heat of day. The slender green of rivers slide along, striving to continue, to feed its own along the banks, the banks where the dust rises. Rises, powdery clomp by clomp as we walk, walk the shady way.
And though the heat, the dryness of heat, pushes down our weary feet, we plod along. When the heat falls hard, on many days, unquenched by the dark of night, we ask, in quiet times, we ask. Bring us the clouds, the blackbellied clouds, the clouds that softly hold the heads of gods in their moistening grasp.
Let them come, with their silver tops and their bellies black as night and cool as forgiveness. The clouds, the rain, the respite from the toil. To soak the thirsty soil. Let the magic come and stay, stay for a while, at least for a while, and wet us down, all the way down. Fill our pores, smooth our skin, wash us free of dirt and sin, with the rain, the cleansing, blessing rain. Sink the water to the core of the earth and push it through the dust, making it heavy and loath to leave the ground.
When it’s done, when it’s over, when we’ve had our treasure and the clouds have gone, when it’s over, please, bring it again another day. Another day of clouds, of life, of rain, of supreme love and comfort, of one more treat for man and his animal friends. Wait until it’s right, but then, bring the big rollers in from the west, and let us watch the world get its fiery drink, and drink in the noise and think about cooler times, but know…let us know that there is nothing better than this.
Brought to you by the new book “Home Country,”at www.slimrandles.com.