The morning sun brought a bright hazy blue sky, but as the day
progressed, clouds began to stack up, one against another. The sky
slowly grayed, the air turning still and silent below the billowing
blanket, and the ground seemed to be waiting patiently for what was
to come. A single large raindrop, the first moisture of autumn,
struck a warm rock in a dry creek bed, but in less than a minute,
the heat of the rock turned the moisture into an invisible vapor
that vanished in the air. Through the hot months of summer, the
ground had grown warmer and drier with each passing day, but the
earth could not quench what was soon to come.
The morning sun brought a bright hazy blue sky, but as the day progressed, clouds began to stack up, one against another. The sky slowly grayed, the air turning still and silent below the billowing blanket, and the ground seemed to be waiting patiently for what was to come.
A single large raindrop, the first moisture of autumn, struck a warm rock in a dry creek bed, but in less than a minute, the heat of the rock turned the moisture into an invisible vapor that vanished in the air. Through the hot months of summer, the ground had grown warmer and drier with each passing day, but the earth could not quench what was soon to come.
A second large drop landed on a leaf of dead grass and then fell to the earth, pausing on top of a tiny grass seed buried just below the surface. The seed was drenched by the enormous raindrop, but it remained still inside. It knew it was not time. More large drops began to fall, the drops rebounding, splitting, and falling again, some hitting trees, some hitting rocks, others landing on dry leaves, still others meeting bare earth. The still and silent air had become alive with motion and sound.
A coolness in the air followed the first wave of rainfall, foretelling the end of long, sultry days. The air was not cold, just pleasantly chilled. And the dry, dusty-attic smell of the woods for a few moments turned to the fresh dusty smell of newly dampened earth. But the smells of dust soon gave way to the many smells of wet.
Every pine needle was tipped with a shiny wet gem, and the live oak leaves took on a sheen reminiscent of last year’s new leaves. Still, a dry spot could be found here and there beneath a large pine or a live oak tree, at least for a while.
Soon all creation would be dampened and in time it would be drenched. A flood would bring drowning and slides would bring death. Animals who could swim calm water now struggled for life, and mighty oaks and tiny grasses were uprooted by sliding earth.
I question all that has happened and what lies ahead. The rocks seem oblivious, the rain participates without caring, the oak does not ask. But the grass seems to know, for the grass dies and is born again with each new year. I will wait patiently and ask the green grass.
I will seek my answers in the rainbow, in a robin’s new song. In two screaming hawks in flight, in the fragrance of flowers. In puffy white clouds, in clear flowing creeks. In bright orange petals, in a new sprouted seed. And I will rejoice with the grass, for now it is spring.
Barry Breckling is a ranger at Henry W. Coe State Park.
