The rain fell hard onto the soil, the garden beginning to flood over, chickens hid under turned over wagons to stay dried. Classes had been canceled since last Thursday the day the dark clouds rolled in. Five days later no signs of letting up all begin to pray for another reason. A drought, dry lands, dying crops seemingly plagued the cove for months, her already stick figured students lost even more weight. They were fading quickly. At meals, before class after the pledge, laying in bed, anytime and anywhere they prayed for the rains to come. To cleanse the land. Celebration, whoops, shouts, and even a few bullets shoot up into sky were heard on that Thursday afternoon; the students even spun, danced in circles as it fell upon them. It quickly was too much, too hard, too fast, and too soon a disaster packaged as a miracle.
