The thunderstorms keep coming, off and on, in between the sunshine and the patches of blue sky.
We have reassured our neighbors that we’ve stopped praying for rain.
But I’m still soaking up every drop.
I grew up in a green valley known for its rain. The downpour on our wedding day was typical even if it was record-breaking.
I love how evident the four seasons are in this valley I moved to when I married my farmer. I love the fact that the bright yellow sunshine is seen more often in our sky than the dreary grey clouds.
But when it rains—and my farmer doesn’t have any hay on the ground?
Sometimes I’m tempted to go outside and dance to the raindrops.
If only it weren’t so muddy.
The busy days they come and go so fast throughout the week. We’re turning the calendar again before we know it.
The sun is up before we are and it goes to bed long after the children do. The hours are long and the rest is short.
But we await it all year long, the time when the harvest begins and we see the fruit of our labors.
There’s more to do than hours in the day. Many hands make the labor light but there are that many more mouths to feed.
And before I know it, another day has passed. I was so busy living life I never got to stop long enough to put it all into words.
Sometimes I’m tempted to stay up with the moon and write until the sun shows its rays again.
If only I weren’t so tired.