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July 28th 2009

    The English have a rain dance.  It is called cricket.  Necessary to dress-up in white, put on pads and carry a bat, walk onto the green field, and when the umpire calls for play, down comes the rain. 

    But there was always beer to drink, so the ticket money had it's function.  Sit there for wet hours while old men from the Glamorgan Cricket Club yarned on about wondrous deeds from past time.   

 

    

    Here in Kentucky, barn Swallows have their second brood.  No harrying Wrens or callous Phoebe's to trouble them.  And the barn is quite peaceful, with just that little chirrup of hungry children reckoning on a relationship between movement and food.

    And this year we too have our rain dance.  Necessary to keep the trowel well hidden on the way from the barn to the vegetables, because these days I don't drink beer.

tim candler

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(Glamorgan)