SUMMER RAIN 



>T has portents without num- 

 ber. See the sky of mottled 

 red that the dawn unrolls for 

 us. The earliest sun-rays strike 

 through it long, white, up- 

 ward-streaming lances. " The sun is draw- 

 ing water," country people say. A little 

 later, when he is an hour above the hor- 

 izon, there will likely be " sun - dogs " as 

 well. Long before those balls of vivid 

 opalescence have gone before him into the 

 cloud's dun swathe, earth will have repeated 

 to you the story of rain, not only in dewless 

 grass and in low-skimming flights of swal- 

 lows. There is a thrilled, expectant hush 

 in flower and tree. Poplar leaves curl and 

 quiver till their silver lining makes light 

 the leafy darkness ; those of the elm rise 

 up in thirsty welcome. The oaks, big bosses 

 of glossy green, droop generously, as though 

 saying, " Flowers first." Dawn winds die 

 away to a low undertone of sighing. Wafts 



