Waiting for the rain . . .


Rain brings relief. Rain brings water. Rain cools. Rain saturates. Rain is beautiful. We've had no rain. We've had heat. I even feel sorry for the crackly brown grass that can't reach roots deep enough to dangle in the deep deep water.

And the air conditioning takes on a new meaning. It is life, it is cool, it is relief. This is the end of July and early August in Georgia. There is a waiting. A waiting for school, a waiting for rain, a waiting for cool air and shorter days. So while we wait, I pray for ideas. A few emerge. Not new ones, just borrowed ones from other moms We dye yarn, we create fossils, we have friends over for a barbeque, and we hang clothes out to dry. We get some sheep, yes sheep. Three. They are called hair sheep. They don't have wool but they are good for milk and meat and they are cute to pieces. Finally, we head to the farm for reunion weekend. We prepare food and games and ourselves. We sit and play under the sun and drink buckets of water.













We read and write and draw and the children crawl close to feel the baby flip and bump and push around inside of me.

The glorious green garden is crumbling, the asphalt, to hot for bike rides. The color is found in us for awhile, before the autumn leaves come. And there is always music. George Wilder is fascinated with the "allergic" guitar. We remind him it is electric but he insists, it is allergic. Amelia counted down the days until her chicks hatched. I've yet to see their little heads emerge from under mother hen, but she has seen them and loves them and they are hers.

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