The Heat Goes On

The day began this morning with a cloud-filled sky.  The air was pleasantly cool and the breeze carried a hesitant promise of rain.  I was sure I felt a slight touch of moisture on my cheek, as light and as fleeting as a shy maiden’s kiss.

I carried out all the magical rituals I know that might encourage the rain to fall. I watered the herb bed.  I washed the car.   I hung out my laundry.  The breeze freshened and for a brief moment it seemed perhaps my magic might work.

As the day wore on, however, the clouds blew away and it was plain the morning’s promise would prove as deceitful as a woman’s wedding vow.

The drought continues.  Desperate for a drink, pigeons flock to the fast-evaporating puddles left by people washing their cars.


About Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
This entry was posted in birds, Climate, Depression, Drinking Water, Life, don't talk to me about life!, Nature, News and politics, Philosophy, Weather and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Please comment!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s