7:51 and it's still raining.

Has been all day.

A few years ago, North Florida went through a nasty summer drought. Every day I would wake up and check the weather station while I got ready for work. Every day it showed me seven days of grinning, taunting cartoon suns. All the plants died. Even the live oaks, with their deep, behemoth roots, drooped.

That's just not right for this part of the world. Florida is a swamp, a rain forest. They called it the Sunshine State to attract tourists, but a better name would be the Mildew State. The whole ecology depends on on just staying damp all the time. Turns out, so do I.

I started to get depressed. And I am not prone to depression. All those clear blue skies began to weigh on me. I fantasized about storms, about standing out in my yard and letting big, fat raindrops beat on me.  Every read the Ray Bradbury story All Summer in a Day? That opposite of that.

Eventually, frowning clouds showed up on the weather channel and we got some rain, thank god. I don't think I've complained about rain since then, though.

soaked

Standing around the practice space last night as the sun went down, sipping drinks out of cans and plastic cups, we told each other lies about the weather.

"It's not as hot as it has been!"
"Feel that breeze?"
"I'm pretty sure it's cooling off some, what do you think?"

Until it turned out to be the truth, and suddenly the wind kicked up some and bright lightning flashed in the purple-black grey clouds that came crawling across the sky. Between songs, the lead singer asked us, "What are y'all all looking up at?" He couldn't see it from inside the storage space, but we sure could. Staring up at it, thunder lost in a double bass beat, smooth-bottomed force of nature come to wash us clean.

Next thing you know, we're getting hit with those fat Florida raindrops, like getting pelted with acorns or pebbles that splash when they land. Wet dust smell jumped up off the asphalt. We protected our beers but not our heads, letting the storm wash off a heat wave's worth of sweat and exhaustion. The driveway between rows became a still river, soaking your shoes and pants' legs before you even realized you'd stepped into the water.

Man, we needed that.

Too Damn Dry

I dreamed about rain last night. I dreamed I woke up and heard it falling. I went out onto my front stoop, spread my arms, and just let it soak me.

Ain't Gonna Rain No More, No More

My birthday's coming up, and the only present I want is a couple days of steady rain. These desert conditions are driving me out of my god damned mind. Born and raised right here, I don't think my body even knows what to do with the lack of humidity in the air - I feel like I'm mummifying on my feet.

I crave a big North Florida storm. Nothing like standing in my doorway, watching leaves and pine straw blow in the street, clouds pushing and bumping across the sky forming landmasses and grey-bottomed airships. First the breeze picks up, blowing away some of the sticky heat, cooling sweat, making it worth venturing out of the a/c. Then, from my lookout point, I can see rain falling as it crawls toward me from miles away. Thunder growls, lightening flickers in the suddenly dark afternoon. Next thing I know, the water's all around me, coming down in bucketloads, near-solid sheets of rain. And when it finally blows out or roars away, everything feels clean and new. The air even tastes better.

Man, do we need it.

state on fire, rolling down the road

You'd never think that a place as waterlogged as Florida could burn so well, would you? When the Gov calls a named subtropical storm a good thing, God help us.

Watch out, y'all. Don't throw cigarette butts out windows, don't have bonfires, don't burn your trash right now. But more than that. These fires are doing a lot of damage, and we won't know the extent of it until we get a good drenching or we get the blaze under control. So, if you are in the state but not threatened right now, start thinking about how you'll help those who come through it alive but lose their homes, livelihoods, worldly possessions. Contact friends and relatives in the threatened parts of the state and make sure they have somewhere to stay and the things they need while evacuated from their own places.

Fire's scary shit, y'all. Let's do what we can to help everyone pull through this. And it probably wouldn't hurt to pray for rain.