The perfect garden rain; how to explain it. The words come easily but they are mere cliche’s. Soft, gentle, perfect.
In this day of losing words to the politically correct-minded among us, a questionable tradeoff to the ones we gain that once were graveled out when striking thumb with hammer or tossed boisterously behind the schoolyard fence, now snuck within each sitcom’s opening season as the acceptable for the year, we cannot yet explain the perfect rain. The one that comes just as the seeds so newly planted thirst and will not be washed away by its insistence.
The best that I can do: a sprouting rain.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology