Hope...and gratitude

Rainbow in the Verde Valley

As I begin writing, it is raining hard outside my window. It won’t last long; it never does. The sun has been skipping over the valley all morning, painting rainbows and dappling the hills. Right now, the beams highlight Jerome, on the mountainside above me. But the drops on my house are fierce enough to sound a bit like they are pounding a tin roof. I love that sound. To a desert dweller, it is comforting. Of course, I am warm, and mostly dry, having returned from my errands without too many drops received.–Got the timing right on that one.– I might feel differently if I were soaked to the bone right now. I saw a man on a bicycle while I was out. He bravely pedaled on. I hope hot chocolate awaits him. And a warm house. I try always to feel gratitude for rain. And I do try to stay dry.

The rain has slowed to a trickle now.  The sun peaking through holes in the dark clouds overhead.  This is the desert in winter: achingly beautiful;  dappled in gold and silver light;  drinking the precious rain like an altar supplicant.  I suspect the “manna” in the Bible was rain.  Just rain.