Bright sunlight is rolled over by dark clouds.
The dry garden waits.
The butterflies disappear. In the distance the low rumble of thunder begins. A single note of rain on the dusty branches. A shiver of upturned tree leaves shakes through the garden. Above the sudden clash of lightening and the drum roll of rain begins. Faster and faster all expectation is filled with the music of rain, an orchestra of trees and tin roofs and water butts gushing and spewing sweet water. The rain is dancing upwards now as the huge drops explode on the stones, treatening destructive hail, but resolving instead into a gentle melody of steady rain and the silver strings of the replenishing water butt.
The swallows reappear in high chorus, hunting insect pushed down by the clouds. The blackbirds thinks it is dusk and sings again. My tomcat slides by yowling indignantly at being wet, as if I were responsible for the rain.
I only wish I could take the credit for this much loved gardener’s song : sweet rain on a dry earth!