The landscape browns toward crisp, dusty death and has been doing so for three months past.  June, July and August have held back their summer rains – a bit over one inch to be exact.

The dugout is dry.

The trees are greeting autumn in leafy shades of early brown.

The corn is not.

The country roads are ankle deep in dust.

Draught is upon the land, gripping life and squeezing green to brown.

But last night the earth breathed deep in relief as cool rains fell through the early morning dark, as life came again.


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