When the rains returned
the trees and I lifted our palms
A wee haiku to honor the weather gods’ sudden recall that our neck of the woods, the Pacific Northwest, is supposed to be dripping and soggy a good portion of the time. Instead, it’s been so dry this summer that even our rain forest caught on fire. We feel like we’re turning into California. (And California’s turning into Arizona. What, I’m afraid to ask, might Arizona be turning into?) In the past couple of weeks, taking my shoes and socks off after a run or a walk in the National Monument land behind my house has revealed filthy feet: the dust is ground so fine it seeps right through.
But now the rains are back!!!! Praise be! Tiny grass points are already poking their way through the dust! And the reindeer lichen, crispy and fragile since May, is squishy again!
To all my friends suffering under the downpours of Hurricane Erika, my condolences. But I don’t feel your pain. I miss rain so much I can barely imagine–no, I can’t imagine–feeling negative about it.
Of course the place that needs precipitation most is the eastern half of Washington, suffering from the worst fires in our state’s history. We lost three good, young firefighters there. So, rain, I love you, but please, if you can, move east. Then come back and stay a while.
And to my fellow Northwet-erners, a word of caution: I’m a nonviolent person, but if I hear anyone complaining about the rain in the next month or so, I’m going to feel like slapping some sense into that silly person.
Please let your weather thoughts, prayers, and propitiations rain down on me!