Though we danced for it…

And prayed brazenly under the cold night stars, we were promised many things, but what we really need to know is, did the rains come, and in the quantities that were foretold? If not, we need but to start again swaying and flaunting ourselves before the sun asking it for a reprieve that the clouds may come and slowly pour themselves out upon us. For it is difficult and futile to work against the sun parched earth. The weeds feast upon the last vestiges of moisture, while the crops fade in the dusty cracked soil. Sun baked and dried. Soon the hoses will run dry, and the watering cans cob webbed and unused. If the rains don’t come as foretold. What if the rains don’t come? Which mysterious old magic will we be left to turn to in order to bring about the rains. So we dance, and prostrate ourselves under the darkening blue skies, seeking a boon from the looming darkness and all those million pin points of light. Surely one of them can send us the rains we were promised. Soon.