the weather gods mock me so

As with the past few weeks, it looks again like it could start to rain. Thunderheads can be seen all across the prairie. From my classroom window I can see one that looks like it might be positioned right over my house. Each and every one of them threatens rain.

The pessimist in me says those threats are idle. When I get home the ground will still be dry, dust will still fly as I turn into my driveway.

The optimist in me says that it can't possibly blow over again; this time rain is sure to fall.

I suspect pessimistic me is right.

Because that has been the pattern lately - rain will appear in the forecast, clouds will build ominously leading up to the day in question, and at the last moment, when the clouds can't swell any more, they blow over to rain elsewhere.

I'm happiest in the rain. I love those cool days when you'd be crazy to go out without a coat and sweater and the rain runs down your face and neck. I'm most at ease when drizzle falls from the sky.

Every time I hear a weather man utter the words "it looks like it's going to be a beautiful day" I want to punch him.

"But Stu," you ask, "if you like the rain so much why do you insist on living upon the dry dusty plains?"

Dear reader, I often ask myself the same question.

A few years ago, when I went to Scotland (I guarantee you that somewhere, somehow my wife is muttering "oh god, he's talking about Scotland again") it rained every day. And I was gleeful.

Admittedly it didn't rain all the time - I have a stack of photos with blue Scottish skies to prove it - but it rained enough to keep me happy. My poor, dried out genes were able to soak up enough water to hold them over for a while.

Now that the prairie weather has chosen to return to dust storms and drought I find my poor soul longs for the rain to come down. The crops sympathize.

Dear reader, if you have any goodness in your heart take pity on a poor boy who longs for days of mist and drizzle: step out in your yard and do a little rain dance for me.

I'll owe you a debt of gratitude. The wheat will too.