The drought foragers

Wednesday afternoon I saw my first rainbow of this brutal summer. When I stepped out of my guitar teacher’s house in north Austin, it started raining, real rain, but by the time I got in my car it had already stopped. As I headed home on the elevated freeway that follows the trail the first Anglo settlers used to travel between the valley of the Colorado and the more rugged country of the Balcones Escarpment, the full arc of a rainbow was there to the northeast. You could see the big rain behind it, a storm that was probably twenty miles away. A rain that eludes you, and gets you thinking that when the rain finally comes, it will be the kind of rain that never stops.

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