Today I woke up to a lovely, familiar sound - rain hitting the windows. My back-brain completely relaxed to the grey light leaking in around the blinds, and went "Ah, it's August. Wonderful! All is right with the world!"
The problem is, that's the "everything is back to normal" in Anchorage in August. (Rev Paul explains here.) But I'm in Texas, where the more common response is a full-throated, heartfelt "Thank G-d!" Something about no rain hitting this patch of dirt in weeks. (I don't think it's been two months, because there was this one thunderstorm in mid-June, but...) In our backyard, in the one bare spot of dirt that hasn't yet recovered from the prior owner's dog digging around, the earth was developing cracks almost three-quarters of an inch wide.
The grass in our yard went from "Could use a trim soon, or in the next three weeks" in a shade of green-tinged brown to a variegated patchwork of bright and deep greens, and looks like it's set to grow three inches by tomorrow morning. The world smells of wet earth and growing things, and is filled with birdsong. It's under 100 degrees, and I'm cleaning the house while the chance to get dust out without more dust blowing in lasts.
Still, a good day. Tonight I'll cook comfort food for friends (the tzatziki is already chilling and melding flavours in the fridge), and celebrate the rain and friendship.