Morning Post, June 7, 2019

I hear the neighbor’s tires slash through the water standing in the low spots in the road and, as he passes close by my porch, the rhythmic pump of his windshield wipers.  The rain is slow and steady and lays on the lawns that were already soaked from yesterday’s and last night’s storms.  The birds are invisible now, tucked away under leaf and branch, but they keep singing into the white sky as a train rumbles in the distance.

In the Bible, rain is a sign of blessing and I wonder as I look out, whether it may be a kind of unction, like the oil used in healing, and whether all sorts of wonders might be percolating in the sea of negative ions here above the trees.

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