JulieLeung.com: a life told in tidepools

It’s been the driest summer in Seattle. I can’t remember the last time it rained heavy and hard. The last time we had to stay inside. I can’t remember when we didn’t have to worry about watering the plants. Some have died in the drought, wilting and falling, blossoms shriveling from bloom: such thirsty dirt. I can’t remember when we had to change plans due to a change in the weather.

I saw the first drops as I was outside washing the cars yesterday afternoon. A tantalizing taste. I felt them first on my arms and face. But I thought it might be my imagination. Or maybe one of the girls playing with the hose. I looked around to see what was wet, what was dripping on my skin. Then I saw them: a few fat water drops fallen on the window and trunk. I looked up and I saw clouds above our house, the kind of clouds that carry something.

Working in our driveway, I saw the neighbors passing. My neighbor across the street waved on her way home from the mailbox.

Do you think it will ever rain around here? she asked
It just did. Did you feel it? Just a moment ago. I replied.
She smiled. Happy at the hope of rain.

We are all waiting for the rain to come. I thought it would rain last night. After the girls bedtime, I had to take a letter to a neighbor, and it was sprinkling outside. From the closet I took out my coat. In the pockets I found a lipstick I’d been looking for the other day. I had searched everywhere and tried to remember where I could have placed it. It had been so long since I had worn it, I’d forgotten what was inside. Through the dark I walked down the street, carrying the letter beneath my coat, the sidewalk spotted wet, drops falling on my face, dampening my hair.

But this morning I look outside. The cement is wet but it is the spray pattern from the sprinklers not the uniform tone of rain. The sky is cloudy, thick, heavy, hanging. No sign of blue sky, just a gray blanket looking like it’s about to burst. The air is moist and cool: it’s a promise, a prophet, but will it be true? The anticipation. The wondering. The waiting. For water.
We are all still wondering. Waiting. Like the dirt: aching.
Will it ever happen? Will it ever rain?