{"id":1534,"date":"2011-12-06T20:10:02","date_gmt":"2011-12-07T02:10:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/?p=1534"},"modified":"2011-12-06T20:13:57","modified_gmt":"2011-12-07T02:13:57","slug":"water","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/2011\/12\/06\/water\/","title":{"rendered":"Water"},"content":{"rendered":"<blockquote>\n<p style=\"font-size: 90%;\">[&#8230;]<br \/>I am a dry man whose thirst is praise<br \/> of clouds, and whose mind is something of a cup.<br \/> My sweetness is to wake in the night<br \/> after days of dry heat, hearing the rain.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-size: 80%; padding-left: 35%;\">\u2014 Wendell Berry, <span style=\"font-style: italic;\">Water<\/span> (1970)<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p>He read his poem to us the other day from a chair on the stage. He sat there&#8230; or did he stand? I evidently only heard his words as sight passed from my eyes, because I can&#8217;t for the life of me remember the scene even though we sat only eight rows back.<\/p>\n<p>In any event, he either sat or stood there reading his poem, and I thought of the drought we&#8217;ve endured.<\/p>\n<p>I have been a dry man. A dry man in a dry house whose doors sometimes wouldn&#8217;t shut because of the tortured contraction of the parched ground around us. I have been a dry man looking after the trees with hoses and buckets. A dry man longing for rain.<\/p>\n<p>And finally several nights ago we woke to the sound of it. And the night after. And again for a third.\u00a0We woke after more than a year of drought, hearing the rain.<\/p>\n<p><em>I just wish that the roof hadn&#8217;t leaked.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Still, you can&#8217;t have everything, and this rain I&#8217;ll take. \u00a0Even though it was only three inches in three days and the creeks are still bone dry, I&#8217;ll take the rain we got.<\/p>\n<p>We can fix the roof (if only the tarps will hold).<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>[&#8230;]I am a dry man whose thirst is praise of clouds, and whose mind is something of a cup. My sweetness is to wake in the night after days of dry heat, hearing the rain. \u2014 Wendell Berry, Water (1970) He read his poem to us the other day from a chair on the stage. [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[74,90,89],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1534"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1534"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1534\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1543,"href":"https:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1534\/revisions\/1543"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1534"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1534"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/augerhandle.net\/blogs\/jumpingfish\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1534"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}