It has been a very hot, dry summer. I think it has rained only twice, and then only briefly. We live in a desert. At least on the edge of a desert, The Great Basin to be precise. I can’t remember how many days we have had over 90 degrees, but certainly many more than I prefer. When the rain comes it is a time to be grateful. During those drought years we pray for rain. When my older boys were little they seemed to live for the rain. Distant thunder would make them giddy, and when the summer thunderstorm would arrive with their great drops of rain splattering on the pavement, the boys would strip their shirts off, tear outside, and run up and down the street shouting with delight.
Yesterday we finally had a good storm. It started early in the morning. I was awakened by thunder and the sound of rain pattering on the metal awning just outside our bedroom. It rained hard for an hour. Later, in the early evening, dark gray clouds swirled in quickly from the south swathing Squaw Peak in numerous shades of gray. Then the rain came. My youngest boy raced outside to delight in the welcome moisture. I’m glad I had the weatherproofed Olympus OM-D E-M5 because it did get wet.