The rain didn’t fall again today. It’s been almost a year with no rain and this place has become nearly unrecognizable. Things that use to be bright with life are no longer. All that remains are the leaves scattered around the floor. Fire red and a gorgeous orange. But, even those look like they are disappearing quick. Some have turned brown and have broken into many pieces, too many to put back together. Yet with our heads to the sky we wait for the rain. The kind of rain that will wash over us, wash away all the broken leaves and remnants of what once lived here; the kind of rain pure enough to pull back from the ledge what might have been strong enough to survive the drought thus far. See, we are at the last inch of our days, but we are holding on tight like all the world’s future depended on it. Oh, how we pray for the rain.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The Rain
The rain didn’t fall again today. It’s been almost a year with no rain and this place has become nearly unrecognizable. Things that use to be bright with life are no longer. All that remains are the leaves scattered around the floor. Fire red and a gorgeous orange. But, even those look like they are disappearing quick. Some have turned brown and have broken into many pieces, too many to put back together. Yet with our heads to the sky we wait for the rain. The kind of rain that will wash over us, wash away all the broken leaves and remnants of what once lived here; the kind of rain pure enough to pull back from the ledge what might have been strong enough to survive the drought thus far. See, we are at the last inch of our days, but we are holding on tight like all the world’s future depended on it. Oh, how we pray for the rain.
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