When I awoke yesterday and looked out my bedroom window, as I do most mornings, I was, very briefly, confused. The front walkway appeared to be wet. But that couldn’t be. Here in Northern Virginia, our version of extreme weather this summer has been fixed and unchanging: exceedingly hot, and absolutely dry. By mid-morning, the sunshine is so relentlessly intense, so adamantly bright, that it takes on a sort of menacing quality. Plants are shriveling and lawns are browning. Squirrels splay their little gray bodies out flat on tree branches, attempting to cool off. They resemble the stuffing-free toys we used to buy our dog. The neighborhood fox family trudges by slowly, mouths agape, panting. Even the birds look miserable, as if their feathers were burdened by the heat. After about three weeks without a drop of rain, we were at last gifted with a pounding evening storm three nights ago. But rain in the morning? That just doesn’t happen.

Water droplets, though, were visible on the hydrangeas.

And on the leaves of the red maples and climbing roses. The impatiens were bowing their heads, as in grateful prayer for the healing moisture.

The temperature dropped from the high 90s to the 70s. Furry and feathery friends appeared newly invigorated. The rain continued, off and on, all day long.

It continues today, as well. Normally, I’d be disappointed to wake up to another rainy day.

But these are not normal times.

The sky is crying, the streets are full of tears
Rain come down, wash away my fears
And all this writing on the wall
Oh, I can read between the lines

Rain come down, forgive this dirty town
Rain come down, and give this dirty town
A drink of water, a drink of wine

–Hand in Hand, by Dire Straits