Rain falls for the first time in months. Dry, cracked sand turns into mud, sidewalks transform into mirrors of slick water, and thirsty trees drink until their roots swell. It’s too late for the brown grass and wilting weeds. They gave up the fight long ago. Did they really belong, anyway?
The cacti are the only ones complaining. Drowning is all to easy when roots run deep and there’s no way to move. Days like this are all about holding on for dear life and praying for the sun.
None of the stones cared. Their lives continue much as they had before, only now they are wet. A new temporary color gives them something new to talk about and maybe a few friends will follow the stream and land in a new place. The pebbles always love the ride, while old boulders grip the ground with all their might. There’s no way in hell they’re moving.
Gray clouds weep and weep until they run out of tears. Sorrow for what, no one knows. Perhaps it’s the ever-changing scene from above. All they see are bunch of ants building colonies and destroying the land. So, they send downpour to flood them out and clear their mess.
Blue skies return, shining light on the wounds. The air is clear, but the ants return.
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