Thank every form of deity that exists, every dryad, every house brownie, every fairy in my yard! It's raining! A slow, soaking rain, just what my plants so desperately need. You can stand on my porch and hear the dried ground going, "Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh, yes, baby, yes, yes, yes, don't stop, yes!" Actually, this sounds, and smells, and looks, and feels a bit more like an Autumn rain than a Summer rain, but, beggars, and my datura, can't be choosers. It's a full Moon, it thundered all day while the women from my circle made ritual candles from the stubs of our old candles, and it's mere days from Lughnasadah, the first of the harvest feasts.
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