Lord,
          when you send the rain,
          think about it, please,
          a little?
  Do
          not get carried away
          by the sound of falling water,
          the marvelous light
          on the falling water.
    I
          am beneath that water.
          It falls with great force
          and the light
Blinds
          me to the light.
~James Baldwin “Untitled”

Without water
the great rock will stare
unmagnetized, bare,
no longer wearing
rainbows or rain,
the forgiving air
and the high fog gone;
the owls will move on
and the several
waterfalls shrivel
in the steady sun.
~Elizabeth Bishop from “Song for the Rainy Season”

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can’t do a handstand–
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said–
I’m just not the same since there’s rain in my head.
~Shel Silverstein “Rain”

Here in the Pacific Northwest, we are predicted to have a solid week of rain starting two days from now. It is sorely overdue, as our skies are continually filled with wildfire smoke and the ground parched and dusty. We webfoots are thirsty for muddy puddles.

The need for moisture is critical, but too much at once is devastating; we experienced overwhelming flooding last November in our county. Some families still have yet to recover, having lost everything, including livable homes.

So, dear Lord, when you send the rain, we don’t need to be dazzled by its volume, or it pounding hard throughout the night, or by its blinding reflection of the light. We simply ask for our fabled green to return along with our sweet clover in the fields and puddles in our pathways. A sweet steady drizzle from your heavens would be perfect – not a downpour, not a gully washer, not a knock-us-off-my-feet drenching – just a gentle gift of your grace sprinkling over and around us.

May I overflow with such goodness – and slishity-slosh when I turn my head…