I watched in vain last Saturday evening the rain clouds disappear without bringing us more than a teacup of water. The drought continues in all it's severity. I have finally decided to take things into my own hands. Rain dances. I have a little Indian blood coursing through my veins. It is not enough to give me oil money from Oklahoma or Reservation privileges, but it just might be enough to work in a rain dance. So I am trying.
Rain Dance Number One - A nice shower would do for awhile. This dance is slow, feet only, and done from the recliner while watching the evening weather forecast.
Rain Dance Number Two - A soaker! A gully-washer. A downpour! For this one I have to go outside. A small drum must be beaten. This one calls for bent back (I have that) and soft gutteral sounds accompanied by an occasional yelp. It would help if I had a wolfskin to drape over my shoulders, but they have been banned, along with eagle feathers.
Rain Dance Number Three - This is the BIG ONE. Water runs in the streets for hours. Storm sewers lift their lids in silent tribute to the downpour. The water is measured in feet, not inches.
This dance is with a loin cloth of buffalo hide. It must be accompanied by several young energetic braves. A lot of yelping. Waving tomahawks add to the occasion. It is late at night in a parking lot like Wal-Mart.
In thinking more about these three choices I have decided to forego them all and go on to bed. After all, we do have a water well. A loin cloth might be a bit breezy with the cool front. Nite!
