My soul mirrors my parched and weary garden. Texas’ insufferable incessant drought and forty plus days of triple digit heat is mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausting.

My creative juices are not flowing. The words that usually bubble like a brook from one sentence to another, the vocabulary that pops out when I need just the right word, and the story that I suddenly remember illustrates exactly what I’m trying to say are all dried up.

I don’t feel like cooking, because the seasonal vegetables are withered or nonexistent. Only the herbs are at home and thriving if I remember to water them everyday.

I can’t gift flower arrangements without flowers. The picture in this post is the exact patch of black-eyed suzans featured on my website. They’re now crispy critters!

I hadn’t realized quite how much I depended on my garden to keep me grounded and sane. My “therapy” sessions have been cut short by the triple digit heat. My “therapy sessions” are normally outside, but it’s too hot.

I love baking, but it’s too hot to turn the oven on.

Quilting while listening to a podcast consistently lifts my spirit, but it’s too hot to be swaddled in batting.

And then there’s writing, but my words are dried up and I’m too thirsty!

Yet I hear my mom patiently chiding me with her words, “at least you’re not a desperate refugee mom trying to relocate, at least you’re not trying to escape a war zone, at least you haven’t lost everything in a fire.”

Yes, mom, I hear you.

How do you pray for rain?