This morning it tried so hard to rain. The clouds gathered on the horizon and put on their best gray colors for the march westward toward our shore.
Unfortunately, the wind’s heart just wasn’t into it.
Oh, a few gusts rose to the occasion and a very few clouds made it to drop sprinkles here and there.
“Really?” I said rhetorically, “All that effort for a little spritz?”
Most seemed to forget how to rain or were reluctant to let go. They looked a bit sheepish. No, really. If you peered closely at the clouds they looked like sheep jumping a fence.
Then they morphed into something else quite again. Whatever it was, it wasn’t their original purpose, which was to be dark gray rain clouds.
Clouds can be so child-like at times.
Perhaps the clear lack of motivation on the part of the wind put the clouds in an uncooperative mood. And it was a rather surely mood there in the back row, I might add.
They rumbled and grumbled in the distance and skirted the island all-together and instead headed for the mainland where other, more-seasoned and serious-minded, rain clouds awaited their arrival.
We’re back to still air and widely scattered, very embarrassed-looking, clouds with hardly a thimbleful of spare moisture inside them.
I chalk it up to lack of practice.
But soon enough these clouds will remember how to discharge their cargo. The wind will remember how much fun it once was to push sodden clouds from east to west.
Together, they will reunite and go about their business with renewed determination.
And it will rain.
And our cisterns and wells will fill to overflowing.