Rain Rain Don't Go Away by Kat Magendie

This is a simple yog. Simple and to the point. A simple thankfulness for what Father Sky gives to Mother Earth. Gives to this cove. Gives to Western North Carolina.

It is raining outside. A good rain. A rain that has been steady since sometime late last night.

I'd been watching the sky since yesterday morning. Watching fat black bloated clouds hover, blanketing my cove at Killian Knob. Watched the trees bend from the wind. Listened to the howl as that wind raced over the mountain ridges and down into the coves and hollows and valley.

But, nothing. No rain. Threatening, threatening. No rain. The day passed. I waited. I hoped.

Then, last night I woke to the sound of rain hitting the roof of my little log house. Oh! That sound! I've been waiting for it for so long. The darkling clouds had finally opened and let loose their contents in a nice downpour. Not a simple sprinkle. Not a fast quick rain and then gone. A good soaking rain.

And now the rain still falls. There is a white mist over the valley, hiding what I know is there. The cove feels even more secret. I am content.

This simple yog of thanks for rain. The ground soaking it up. The creek filling. I have need of nothing else this morning.

Replenishing Rain by Nannette Croce

Late spring and early summer in southeastern Pennsylvania brought perfect outdoor weather. It seemed each day dawned either cloudless or with only wisps of cotton floating across a deep blue sky. We enjoyed light breezes, mild temperatures, and little of the humidity so common in our region. But, enjoyable and conducive to outdoor chores as it was, by late June my garden was evincing the distress of weeks without rain.

I watered it every couple of days, but as our water comes from a well in an area where recent over building has lowered the water table, I'm always reluctant to spend too much water on gardening in times of drought, and drought was beginning to look like what we faced. Then, a few days ago, the weather suddenly changed. The skies didn't brighten in the mornings or at any time throughout the day, and a drizzle fell almost steadily from morning to night. The bad luck was it dampened a rare three-day July 4th weekend, and rained out the two parties we were invited to, but I didn't really mind.My garden immediately perked up. The leaves greener,the flowers more colorful.

It's easy to take water for granted. Throughout my lifetime short periods of drought have always been followed by overflowing reservoirs. The Pueblo Indians of the Southwest United States knew better. Rain is such an important part of their culture that rain designs often decorate their pottery. Now water all over the country and all over the world is becoming a precious commodity. One more victim of global warming.

These days I'm always grateful for a good, replenishing rain, even when it comes at an inconvenient time.