Scattered Showers

We sat for an hour last night, watching the lightning flash off to the north and west. Sometimes we saw the brilliant strobe of the main spike, brilliant, vibrating between earth and sky. Other times, we saw reflections carried through the layers of clouds, pulsing in the trees and shining clear to the east.

For a while the wind stirred the dance of branches, a swishing and swaying of muted greens seen through the screen of the second story window. It seemed we would surely have rain but none came. The storm slid further to the north and east and we found not the least traces of darkened earth or gravel, not even a gathering on the windshields of the car and truck parked outside.
Folks over at Highland and Denton and Severance said they got a good rain, an inch or more. It came at a good time, too, coming in just as the ears of corn are filling out, loading up the stalks with heavy ears, a full kernel for every silk, every space filled.
I think of our small pastures, blades nipped to the edge of the dirt. The horses drift around the paddock, searching for some small clump they may have missed before.
We would have liked to have some rain.
And yet, there is still hay in the barn and the grass is still green. I suspect, too, that there have been many times when others looked in our direction and wished they had a bit of the rain that had fallen on our lives.
H. Arnett

About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Ark City, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-nine years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-eight grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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