A half-darkness came in the mid-afternoon; with the darkness came dusky clouds and rain. The rain did not start light; instead, it fell heavily, almost dangerously so. It swept against the long dry and sun-bleached expanse of the Montana prairie.
Our
broad-valley summers are typically dry and hot. This year has been especially brutal.
The last rainfall is so distant I cannot recall it, and the heat has been
insistent. With the first report of rain against my windows, I ran out onto my
portico to meet the storm face to face. Within seconds, the air chilled around
me. The scent of damp earth and wet grass enveloped me.
Vital
dirt-smell.
The
sharp scent of sage.
Watching
the rain splatter down before me, I began yelling at the sky: “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
But August rains are fickle, if not strange. The rain eased up quickly, and the
darkness lifted, leaving the prairie and me with only a taste of what we need.
—Mitchell
Hegman
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