Where are the April Showers?

It's spring, right? There should be gentle rain and green pastures, not these spiky, dry trees with no energy for opening their green umbrellas

We are in the middle of a drought...a serious prairie fire-hazard that rivals that of the old dust bowl days when acres of farmland simply blew away and deposited themselves in the jungles of Arkansas and Alabama.

I chanced upon this little dugout today--an old house once used by a tough, persistent pioneer.
If he were around, he'd just call this a dry spell.

High up there, the sky is blue and it spawns fast clouds that fluff around empty--clouds without water, like St. Jude's apostate teachers, just great puffs of promise that never satisfy a thirst for life.

Everybody here is praying for rain.