Where Has All the Rain Gone?

Scarce amounts of grasshoppers spring across the yard as I drag the water hose from one tree to the next. The unforgiving heat radiates across my face, and the mercury hovers slightly above 101 degrees...in the shade. I protect my eyes from the hot, bright sun with a pair of cheap designer knock off sunglasses, but my arms and legs are left to fend for themselves. Every step I take my feet land on yet another patch of dry and arid land, and as I bare my weight down on each leg I can hear the tiny blades of grass crying out for water. Just a touch of water.

But not today. Their cries would go unnoticed and the prayers of all civilians in Texas would be ignored as they had been for the past eight months. No, only the trees will be blessed with a saturation of H2O today. I laid the hose nozzle next to the young olive tree and wiped the sweat from my brow. I took a second to peer out on the surrounding countryside. There is brown as far as the eye can see, and what used to be green rolling hills in the distance now only lay as a backdrop for the heat waves to stream across.

The cattle move across the desert-like pastures, kicking up dust with every step of the hoof. Searching, searching, searching for something, anything to eat. Hay rings lay empty and creeks and ponds appear cracked and dry. Scorched from the unending days of sweltering heat and no rain. I count the ribs in the livestock, their skinny bodies desperate for nourishment. The bunnies scurry out from under the porch, their hunger driving them out to hunt at an earlier time than usual.

No corn or hay has grown this season. No profits have been made. I endure the stories of my uncles telling how they lost five calves the week before and can only expect more to succumb to the drought. As I gaze upon my ancestor's homeland, I think about how long it has been since a drop of rain has fallen and how much it will take to reverse the damage. If that is even possible. I stare upon the yard of the farmhouse where I used to play in my childhood and become saddened at the state of the desolate, non existent turf. All that remains to hold the memories is dirt, and with each gust of the warm August breeze, blows those memories away.

I have to remind myself to keep the faith and believe it will rain again. I find the rain gauge thrown upon the porch, tossed away in its uselessness. I hold it in my hands and pray that one day it will be filled to the brim with rain drops, and then filled again the next day and 50 times after that.

I finish watering the trees and roll up the hose in time to see the sunset. As the golden sky darkens on yet another suffering Texas day, I can only wonder.

Where has all the rain gone?