It's raining, not pouring,
The old earth's devouring,
Drinking up the water clear
As fast as she can manage here --
May it break the drought by morning.1
More doggerel this morning, it appears, in praise of the blessed event! When I finished the third paper, around 3 am, it was just thinking about starting. So glad it did. So often it just blows over, blessing someone else. Now I repeat the prayer of the little boy who fell head-first into the cider barrel: Dear Lord, please grant me the capacity equal to the opportunity.2
Well, if this keeps up, no way will there be any emergency fence repair undertaken by the locals... They don't have any "duck" genes (unless you count the ability to procrastinate at the drop of a ... duck their commitments. The neighbor who was going to email me a hay bill before I went up to college the end of July so I could figure out where my finances stood before I was turned loose in Des Moines for a week still has not, but suggested they could repair the fence for me. Something's wrong with the tractor he was going to mow down the weeds with prior to Memorial Day... Ah, well, NOT shopping doesn't kill me. I really DO have enough clothes for school already. AND I HATE trying things on.)
1 Note how, unlike the original child's song, each of my lines is a little longer than the last? I am definitely NOT the poet in the family. NOBODY would accuse me of that!
2 Faulty Memory Alert. It might have been a molasses barrel, but I rejected that idea, as I don't think he could have breathed successfully. The dear child also might have had a less grandiose vocabulary, but I do remember that he was succinct.