It didn’t take long for all the wonderful moisture we got with those last few snow storms to be just a memory. The muddy ruts all too quickly turned cement-hard, and every trail is dusty and dry. All the corrals are dirty, especially with a little wind, and we have been praying – hard – for the moisture we so desperately need. Moisture totals are low and the drought has not broken. Dams that had water a week ago are now dry. The grass is promising, but without moisture it will head out and mature, and basically stop growing, even if we get later rain. It becomes rather disheartening, seeing the green spring up so eagerly but to see storm after predicted storm disappear off the radar, or split and go around us, or dissipate in a little scattering of raindrops.

But we pray and watch the weather and pray some more, and encourage each other with the fact that God is in control. How often it is that I remind my own weary heart that God is a loving God Who knows what we need and will provide, even if it isn’t ultimately the way or the thing we think we need! So it goes with the weather.

Over the last hectic week or so, as we have wrapped up calving season and all the craziness of branding season has begun, we have hoped and prayed and anticipated, as the meteorologists began talking about some significant rainfall this week. Little storms popped up here and there, with un-measureable amounts of rain, but what seemed to be a “priming of the pump,” as some would say. We have had some hot, muggy days, some strange, foggy ones, and the atmosphere all day today seemed restless, with a heavy morning sky that cleared to a too-blue afternoon sky with summer-warm temps and looming clouds. We are supposed to brand a small bunch of calves tomorrow, and at this point don’t know if that will happen. I can’t tell you how thrilled we’d be to have to cancel due to rain!

The night was quiet when we went to bed, but about an hour ago the thunder began, and a little lightning flickered in the south. Then it intensified, and the thunder was constant. I finally got up to throw sheets over my perennial garden in case of hail, and the air was warm and sweet with the smell of distant rain.

So now I’m sitting here by the window, the only one in the house awake, listening to the sound of thunder and drops of rain on the roof, as an occasional gust of wind squeaks a gate or wakes up my wind chime. What wonderful music, listening to the storm roll in.