An English In Kentucky


















April 21st 2010    Tim Candler

    Locally heavy rain, gusty winds, and hail are always possible this time of the year.    Sprinkles are sometimes suggested.   But this Springtime an occasional twenty percent chance of showers is about the best we have been able to manage.

    Of course I no longer look at the weather forecast.   I don't look at parched earth and burst into tears.  I don't look up at a little white cloud and shake my fist.  I don't do any of these things because of a cave in the Sahara Desert.

     I have never seen this cave, but it is deep and cool and on its walls there is a record of a generational attempt to reverse weather patterns through thought and prayer.   Some suggest that during a period of less than two hundred years an area the size of the United States was reduced to sand and rock.      

    As usual there is what others consider a brighter side.   Those clans who managed an existence for thousands of years across broad plains of plenty moved east, where they fought each other and quarreled over the Nile Delta.  Forced into conjunction a civilization of people emerged which included day laborers, pyramid building, the chariot and inherited titles.

      Too often it is true.  I sit around and moan and groan about past favors in anticipation of the same again.   I understand this as a cave dwelling which I am prone to.   But I am damned if I can find gratitude for the hosepipe.

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