“I love the water of wells and springs, and the taste of roofs in the water of cisterns. I am a dry man whose thirst is praise of clouds, and whose mind is something of a cup. My sweetness is to wake in the night after days of dry heat, hearing the rain.” Excerpt from “Water” by Wendell Berry.
It is has been a strange summer. Already in August and I wonder what I have been doing with the time summer likes to promise. I haven’t cleaned any cluttered closets or vacated bedrooms. I haven’t shined my grandmother’s silver. I have only written three notes to my son who summer has been to be away at camp, far from me. My desire to cook is to only make what is simple and hope there is enough for another meal. The kayak out only twice. Biking ridden with less desire and slower time. Finding my true self seems stupid.
The pandemic drones on with a widening divide in humanity. I wonder how we will comeback from this fractured world. It feels like we have learned nothing. Nothing.
Wildfires in the West Coast and Canada ravage towns and parks. And, creatures. I lament when the air quality forces me to stay inside when the temperatures are actually cool and dry. All the while, there are people risking their lives and families of all walks running for theirs.
The grass is brittle and laden with weeds. Chiggers seem to find my ankles as I timidly bend to pull out crabgrass for the sake of my neighbor.
I have looked daily at clouds asking for respite from the condition of this summer. Please bring rain. Please.
This morning I find water in my birdbath outside my front door. I see Robins bending into the grass looking for breakfast. And, I hear a whisper to hope in the gentle rain as it moistens the ground that it meets.
