It’s raining. After a long hot and dry spell, it is the miracle it always is. I am sitting in the dark listening to it rain, miracles should be seen and heard. If I had conceived of rain, invented it and then shared it with everyone, I would be hurt if no one ever stopped by to say “thanks!” It would be like inventing light and everyone keeping their eyes shut. Well, I guess if stones can so can trees. My trees are singing “Praise Him Praise Him all you little chil—trees, God is love, God is love…”
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