This past winter, the crocuses came up in February. Our garlic never really died. The kale in the side garden was green, and not because it froze. It was warm. We got the 80s in March. Then came April. Snowpril, as they call it. Then came May, a month of very little rain. Then came June, a month of very little rain. Now it's July 10. We have not had any rain since we moved here to Michigan almost a month ago.
The grass is dead where the sprinklers have not hit. Many trees are dropping their brown leaves. An entire row of trees near the preforming arts center is sporting a bright red crown. We shouldn't be experiencing September vistas with mid-August heat and Sahara levels of precipitation. This isn't supposed to be...
The grass outside the library here at Andrews is beautiful. It's green and lush. It's where the sprinklers are aimed. But as you get further from the showcase area of campus, it gets drier and drier. The grass on my way home crunches into dust under my feet.
A distant acquaintance posted this. I'd like to add a thought:
Every heavenly raindrop is a seed. A seed of love. A seed that somehow grows more rain clouds and sends the rain into another life. And as long as you share your rain clouds, you never lack any of your own...
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| Amazing things happen in a desert after it rains. |
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God knows we need rain. All we have to do is ask.
