Saturday July 28 2012
The heavens are unsettled, clouds roiling and boiling, thrusting upward into the blue sky, pluming, bulging, aspiring to thunderheads, shading gray and cobalt, boldly edging out the sun.
They swell into rumbling threats, shedding cracks and booms. Silver spears spat from the sky shimmer in slices of sunlight, spattering hairy coats long deprived of water.
When purple clouds open up and dump rain, it is like manna from heaven to this thirsty desert ground; but Luna dislikes the alien gift from the Sky Gods. Unsettled, she whirls in agitation, seeking shelter from the hurled drops, but under the sky, there is no place to hide. Tail tucked between her legs, ears flopped back, she protests the unfairness of life.
She hasn't learned yet the art of stillness, of patiently waiting out the rainstorm, head to the ground and butt to the stinging drops, because it will pass.
The storm does pass, but when the next onslaught of storm clouds flings ice balls with biting disregard, even the most stoic Rain Waiters wither before the assault. The herd becomes unsettled, swirling, bolting, running from the insult.
And the sun chases the ice balls onward as another thunderhead builds in the west for the next round on this Owyhee summer day.