Last night I awoke to the crash of thunder. Lightning flashed outside my bedroom window and rain beat loudly on the skylight in the bathroom. The Live Oaks outside my window, those valiant trees which barely clung to the live part of their name, sung the Halleluiah chorus (at least in my fantasy) as they drank in the storm. For the first time since last November, the sky had opened and given us the drenching Houston so desperately needed. And at last all was right with the world.
Okay, that’s a bit melodramatic, but in truth, our city has been desperate for rain for months. We’ve celebrated even the lightest sprinkles, prayed Tropical Depression Lee would pay us a visit, mourned the death of thousands of beautiful trees and grieved for the devastation caused by Texas wild fires. In a city accustomed to flooding and violent storms, the drought made us aware of the fragility of our environment when the water didn’t come.
Perhaps the drought has passed and more showers will come to restore and revive the trees and plants and wildlife. At least for one night, Houston was washed clean, nurtured and lulled back to sleep by the patter of glorious, precious rain.