Watering the Garden

Is it raining? My brain rouses from sleep enough to ask the question. The body doesn’t care, rolls over, and tells the mind to hold off the curiosity until morning.

Hour after hour the sky remains gray and weeping.  It tapers to a mist and I venture out with an umbrella for my daily walk. An hour later and it’s pounding — heavy drops bouncing from parked cars and the asphalt they sit on.

Downspouts direct water to the narrow, gravel alley. Predictable gravity takes it away. It comes heavier, faster. The alley spills over into my patio. It creeps across slanted cement, finds an exit ten feet away and flows back out on the way to the muncipal storm sewer inlet.

As the clouds thin before sunset I walk out to inspect the garden.  Saturated dirt within the boundarys of the raised bed makes me glad I didn’t plant yesterday. I hope the moisture will go deep, ready to nourish the plantings next week, when God may or may not water the garden on a human schedule.

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