This sort of freshening
does not often come in August:
soft and slow,
a gentle seeping
from cloud to earth,
each drop sinking,
soaking into the soil.

An inch of rain
spread over two days
and two nights.

It is a perfect answer
to imperfect prayer,
softening the soil
deeply cracked
by three months’
lack of rain.

I danced in its
sweet relief on Saturday night,
my unseemly joy
concealed by the darkness,
plopping my bare feet
on the wet concrete
beside the back door,
turning my face up toward the heavens,
hands lifted in adoring gratitude.

There are blessings
for which a simple nod of thanks
is not enough.

H. Arnett
8/27/12