Three inches of rain fell in the night, raising the ponds. A warm, steady, windless shower, it began before sunset, straight down from high up, so invigorating we ran our last half mile bare-chested with the rivulets running down us, and we felt almost amphibious.
The ground drank it in, and when the sun appeared at noon, there were no puddles, except in the palms of the lily pads, and no mud. The green world stands a little taller today.
My son tells me he watched the leaves of his zucchini plants point to the sky and cup, directing the rain to their roots.
This evening, fire flies rise from the weeds in a display like we haven't seen in weeks, revived. We feel it, too. Rain is an ordinary miracle.
copyright 2010 J. O'Brien, all rights reserved
