No, this is not a close-up of George Hamilton's (no relation) face. It is dirt. Dry dirt. Very dry dirt.
I've been up most of the night listening to the thunder teasing me. It's low rumble (much like the sound my stomach makes after eating at Moe's Southwest Grill) off in the distance made me really believe that rain was on the way. Alas, there were only a few sprinkles and we, once again, have been left "high and dry."
The sad thing is that I can recall after several days of constant rain, just wishing (and hoping and thinking and praying) that it would stop (those lyrics were made famous by Dusty Springfield. Coincidence? I don't think so). It seems we are never satisfied.
It's now 7:04 AM, 74ยบ degrees and cloudy. I believe there's a little bit of precipitation even as I type, so things are looking better.
Matthew 5:45 says that God sends rain on the just and the unjust. That should pretty well cover us all, but I'll try to just back off and let God be God. After all ...
Father knows best.
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