There is a great rain on. Few natural things rise to the level of The Almighty as the gathering of a great rain upon the earth. The land swells and seeks to hold it but it cannot drink nor gorge itself on the great feast, which must lie atop it and run across it, and carry some of it away in it to be laid deposited on some distant shore. My yard is so filled, feasting as for months leaving it pushing the plate of water from Glory away from its setting and allowing it to run to where is hungry enough to abide the feast. It is a dark morning shining in glistening silver under every light that is reflected in the feast. A great rain is on and above the darkness rides sacks filled with rain, drawn from the Gulf along the glorious arms of the atmosphere and once again spread around West Tennessee like so much manna that cannot be gathered but flows away and away like the music of Almightiness into the cosmos of the Divine. A great rain is on and God is certainly being praised.
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