Voices on the Wind Voices in the Garden
It Rained by m.e.jackson In some forgotten moment, in another place and time, down a dusty road beyond, it rained. The cracked dry earth drank, spilling more than could be absorbed, so parched it cried sand tears. Corn husks had withered, falling brown and lifeless unable to prosper in the sun beaten daylight. The clouds crowded into the sky, bulging orbs caught in a return cycle waiting to be thrown. With nowhere to move the thunderheads shed their darkened gray mass and it rained. For seven days and nights the sky shed its burden washing away the dust. Too late for summer crops, too late for farmersí plights, too late to foster hope. In another place and time, in some forgotten moment it rained.