I am starting to worry about the driftiness of the rain goddess. She shows up, leaves, forgets the way back. We importune, we cajole, we flatter, we dance and beat drums and she sleeps in. Yawns, and goes back to sleep. Another sunny day, absolutely perfect, rolls down the conveyer belt.
I put up a bird feeder, fill it with thistle seed. If a butterfly flapping its wings over Mount Kinabalu can affect the weather, will a flock of finches flush away the high pressure ridge?
Since rain incantations have lost their powers, how about this, from the Turkish poet Orhan Veli Kanik:
This weather has finished me off.
In this weather I quit my job
at the Bureau of Public Works.
I started smoking in this weather.
In this weather I forgot to bring home
the bread and salt.
I forgot I had this writing disease
and it flared up again.
This weather had finished me off.