All week long the bullfrog has been croaking; it's coming, it's coming. All day the clouds come and go, teasing us, making us hope, making us ache, making us beg; please, please, please. Then for the most dramatic effect it arrives under cover of darkness. Knowing the earth is a sphere the thunder travels in circles, clockwise, round and round. The lightning acts like a string of faulty Christmas lights. Once here, once there. Blue, yellow, orange, white, purple. A few shy, tentative drops to see if it would be welcome and as the plants and trees cry; yes, yes! the rain lets go of all its inhibitions and gives and gives and gives. At first fiercely, then tenderly, then generously, then gently. And we whisper this prayer; thank you.
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