We woke up this morning to a dark, misty farm. The clouds that had been pouring out that sweet, much anticipated rain all weekend are still here; they are just resting for a bit. Hopefully gathering more water for Oklahoma. Outside it feels like a thick, gray comforter has been pulled up to our chins and the curtains have been drawn tight against the sun.
A pickup truck drives past the front gate, ball cap-wearing driver leaning slightly to his left, sleepy, holding in his right had the biggest insulated mug I have ever seen. Only some of the chickens are geese are awake, and they wearily signal an ambiguous dawn. The buffalo is in one of his sandy wallows, folded up into himself, big head bowing low, beard and mane flattened out and dripping from the watery air. The horses are still asleep too, back ankles cocked up in that vulnerable, adorable pose they know.
Handsome is off to the salt mines. Off to save the world in his own way. Making me proud.
People we love dearly are grieving hard today, and so we grieve with them, for them. Their hearts are wrenched and pinned against excruciating pain, and they have little recourse. I see my parents in a new light, one that makes them shine, but it's something I never wanted to see, not for this reason. They are so strong and so loving. So instinctive and generous of heart.
I am grateful beyond words for my family. Wishing comfort and mercy to pour over them just like the rain on this parched land.