Spring Flings

It happened overnight last week. After one of the driest winters in Nebraska memory, rain finally arrived to remain for a couple days.

Overnight, the further spread of wildfire, which had charred 987,000 acres of ranches and farmland the size of Delaware in south-central Nebraska, eased. Splotches of green, initially like Impressionist artist Georges Seurate’s pointillism, began to spread.

Tight-bound leaves revealed themselves on Fontenelle Forest trees. Brown weeds, compressed by drought against the ground, lifted green heads. Lawns turned a sparkling emerald. Flood watches replaced Red Flag fire warnings. And months of dust simply washed away.

It seemed like new to drive, windshield wipers cranked, through the downpour. Here and there, umbrellas sprouted. Those without braved the rain. Many were smiling.

Oh, the drought’s not over here in the Northern Plains. These two days of rain could be a mirage, a surcease that teases. Changing weather caused by climate change likely assures that.

But for now, as Nebraska’s Ted Kooser wrote in his heartwarming poem, “Mother”: “The peonies are up, their red sprouts burning in circles like birthday candles.”