Rain flows from the sky – in steady streams,tumbling down the street. I watch,marveling at the sheer magnitude. Listening to the roar. The weight in the cloudsbreaking free, as nourishing waterfor Mother Earth. Simple raindrops…infinitely complex. Nitrogen in lightning,flashing within an iron sky. The dancebetween the clouds. Air that smellsclean and damp. The wind is quiet just now –leaves on treesseeming to welcome the outpouring. A gift to be treasured – as surely as the sun risingon a given morning. Rain is welcome –on my faceand in my heart. Flow over methis morning. —————— Sometimes the sky speaks in water, and the heart can only answer in rhythm. – RG

I am, by nature, a farm girl. I prefer the language of trees, of wind in the branches, the smell of earth awakening after winter and open sky. Thankfully, I grew up on an 80-acre farm where that love was stamped into my heart and soul. The 100+ year-old house was situated on a hill that overlooked a pasture and hayfield to the west, a sprawling garden with a few fruit trees dotted around it to the east – and to the south there was an open field that wandered into the woods. The woods was a visual evolution of seasons. It would be easy to miss if one wasn’t…

It was Sunday morning, and the sun had yet to make an appearance. As I stepped outside, the coyotes were celebrating just a little too near for my peace of mind, so I went back inside to get some coffee. A couple minutes later, I headed back out and saw the first hints of red washing on the horizon line. The bluff I was standing on is on our property at slightly over 1,100 feet up. The Brazos River is below, as well as a ranch with pasturelands that are verdant after several days of rain. At that moment, they were still cloaked in the final remains of the night.…