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We have become so cynical
about rain clouds. They fill the sky
north, south, east, west
and overhead
and still, only about 15 drops. It has been months
since rain has come in measurable amounts.
We haven’t had a soaking rain
in more than a year.
The soil is deeply, profoundly
dry.
And that may become the normal
state of this prairie.
But this weekend rain came
in three thunderstorms
that put 2 3/4 inches on the soil.

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Puddles grew large
as the rain came hard.
Plants perked up.
A Barnswallow couple sat on the fence together
in the downpour.
Guinea fowl splashed through standing water.
We splashed through standing water,
deliberately,
with glee.
High atop a dripping tree,
a Baltimore Oriole sang the lyrical notes
of its song, sweet and bright.
Doe Creek’s dry bed
and its tributaries
instantly filled
with muddy water.
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As sun appeared beneath clouds
in the west
it cast a rainbow on storm clouds
moved east.

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And then as sun struck the land
in its golden hour,
all that wet dried grass
turned breathtakingly golden
against the soaked green tree leaves
and the dark blue skies in the east.
Glee seemed to erupt
everywhere.

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