Praying for Rain

It's been as dry as a box of snuff around here. This spring I was afraid it would rain all summer and stay cool. Jilda was all for that but I like it hot. Well I got my wish. It hasn't rained in weeks and my grass is turning as brown as sage. Last night at dusk I could smell smoke off in the distance so I walked down to the barn to make sure it wasn't close. Fortunately it was down south of here too far off to be an immediate threat. The weatherman is saying we have a shot at some showers tonight and tomorrow. I'm sitting on the deck as I write this piece to see if I catch a scent of rain.
On Friday night we went to a cookout at my sister's house. It was in honor of David and Danielle (my niece and nephew) who are heading out in the morning to Burma for eighteen months. All of them go to Grace Baptist so a lot of the folks from their church were there. Mary Lois asked Jilda and I to play a few songs for the crowd. I pulled out the old Taylor guitar and played the only two gospel songs I know and the crowd seemed to enjoy those. They were less enthused about the other songs we played: Margaritaville, Swervin' in My Lane, and some other hard drinking songs. But for the most part I thought it went well. Patrick and Julie, another niece and nephew were down from South Carolina and Patrick is a picker too. We played for a few hours.
Driving home a red fox ran out in front of us. I saw him in time and braked almost to a stop so that he could escape back into the woods. I'm betting he was looking for water.
I've got a recording of a thunderstorm programmed into my computer and I play it now and again when I long for rain. There's something about the sound of a summer thunderstorm off in the distance marching ever closer, soaking the parched earth on its beneficent journey. A rain after a dry spell is extraordinary because you can almost hear the trees and shrubs rejoicing.
If it rains tonight, you may hear me rejoicing too.