It is raining.
Let’s pause for a moment and let that soak in … rain.
Actually, it could more accurately be described as dripping. Still, after weeks of nothing but dry, dry, dry, you can practically hear the crunchy brown lawns and dried up gardens sucking up the moisture with thirsty abandon.
Every once in a while I open the door so I can watch the drip and then I sniff. Yes, that smells like rain.
I thought I smelled rain last week when I followed the street sweeper down 23rd Street. He left a slightly moist trail you could smell, but it just smelled wet, not rainy.
My poor garden. This was the year I decided nature would supply most of the moisture. I did break down occasionally and water an especially dry patch of garden, but not enough to give me the garden I wanted. I swear that next year I will not be such an environmentalist. I will provide what Mother Nature will not.
But for now, I will watch the paperboy amble slowly through the drip as he heads home after morning delivery, I’ll take another deep breath of damp air, and be glad.