On Rain After the Drought

A storm is brewing outside my window. Everything is draped in murky gray. The energy and anticipation in the wind makes the tree limbs waltz just before the clouds open. On Rain After the Drought Singing drops pound out their rhythm upon every thirsty surface

Hate

On mornings like these, I find myself longing to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head to hide ostrich-style from clanging noise called HATE. So many days I can ignore it like radio static in the background. But other days, like today, it roars making sure I know its power.