Slim Randles' Home Country

Drought can be a really ugly word.

[August 14, 2014]  We walked quietly out and looked toward the west. It seems as though everyone did. Neighbors were out and the dogs were racing around trying to set new yard-to-yard speed records. Yes, it was getting dark there in the west.

But no one really wanted to say it. No one wanted to jinx it. Oh, we’re grown up, educated more or less, and smart enough to come in out of the … oops. Nearly slipped up there. But there is that nagging little fear we all carry when we want something so badly we’re afraid to talk about it. It might not happen.

I looked across the street and there was ol’ Windy Wilson, staring west and snapping his suspenders in anticipation. Windy was here before the invention of dirt and knows a few things. The closest our talk came was simply Windy smiling at me and nodding yes.

Yes.

Oh, we need it. Farms that have used irrigation for a hundred years were now having faithful wells dry up. The nearby mountains held several fires, as there was less moisture in some of the trees now than in a cured two by four. Drought can be a really ugly word.

Mrs. Doc came out of her house with iced tea for about 10 people, and we smiled and sipped it gratefully and looked toward the west.

The blackness was climbing higher. It was getting blacker, too.

Doc walked over to the tree in his front yard and looked at the thermometer. “Ninety-one,” he said.

And then came the breeze, that softly massaging coolness that said we were the chosen ones. This was our afternoon. It was coming. It was COMING!

The first rumbles of thunder made us smile and jump just a little as the black ceiling drew itself over us like bed covers.

And then … RAIN!

We twirled in it and danced in it. Toddlers disassociated themselves from clothing and hopped around like frogs. People with gray in their hair wished they could, too.

Rain. To save us. Rain. We must have done something right for once.

Thank you.

[Text from file received from Slim Randles]

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