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.