By Jacob Hatcher
We finally got some rain, bringing a hint of cool and moisture to what has been a long, hot, dry summer. It had been so long I had forgotten what a summer rain felt like; had I not been so worried that the neighbors would have had me carried away, I might would have laid out on the driveway and let it soak me to the bone.
Later that evening in the calm stillness of the setting sun, I heard what sounded like a single frog in the creek near our yard. A song I hadn’t heard in a very long time. In the pasture nearby, a chorus of crickets sang their harmony.
There was a gentle breeze lifting the flag that hangs on our porch, ever so gently grabbing it. Like brushes on a snare drum, the cloth swished as its stripes were pushed towards the east, only to fall back down again with the subsiding wind. The brass chimes next to the flag, still glistening from the rain earlier in the day, kept time as the wooden ball between them bounced back and forth.
From the backyard, I heard our coonhound Merle singing low and sweet as he chased the growing shadows across the yard. Earlier in the day I could tell he was itching to chase something, but until the rain came, it was too hot to dream about chasing critters, let alone actually do it.
After a few minutes, the frog fell silent, and the crickets did too. The swishing of the flag was replaced with the creaking of my chair, and I knew the moment had passed. The song was over. For a second, I was a little sad, but then I opened the door to our house and walked inside where my ears were filled with cartoons, children’s laughter, and squeals of, “Daddy!”
In that moment, I knew that evening’s music was not over; the song creation had sung me had merely been setting the stage for an even sweeter song I was about to hear.