Rain and Sun

Yesterday I went through my ritual.
I carried the bucket of water toward the special spot where I would offer it to King Sun and ask for rain -- again.
The earth was cracked and dusty. Large cracks loomed. What lives in them? I've always wondered, when the sun opens the earth so.

Anyone down there?

I walked over the cracked and dusty earth, beneath a cloud shrouded sky.
"Make the clouds heavy, heavy, heavy, so that rain may fall upon us," I entreated.
"Quench the thirst of the earth. Make the earth swell, filling the cracks," I beseeched.

I walked widdershins, three times, around the circle, saying out loud that I heard rain falling, pounding the dust into mud.

Then I walked back along the mown path through the cedars, looking at the gray sky. When you do a spell, you are supposed to walk away from it, secure in the knowledge that what you asked for has already happened.
But I walked through the trees, looking anxiously at the sky, wondering if it really was going to rain. Sixty percent chance and nothing but the lightest shower so far. I went through the day trying to relax, to not be attached to the rain. Yet a small knot persisted. Nature had promised rain before. The meteorologists had promised rain before. And nothing came of it. Why should I expect something different this time?

The Hot Cocoa roses opened wider, as if to catch as much of the rain on
their faces as possible.

Magic.
I'm not the only one calling rain, these days.

Part of doing magic is making a change within yourself. Whatever you seek, something within you must change. As I've done this ritual several times now, I realize that it is not just about calling rain. As I offer the bucket of water to King Sun, I recognize the sun as a power, an ally, not the enemy -- even though he has baked giant cracks into the ground. King Sun gives life, as well as destroys it.

The ritual also reminds me of the science behind the myth. The sun evaporates water from the surface of the earth -- "drinking" it, so to speak -- and the moisture collects in the sky until it becomes heavy enough to fall back to earth. The water that rises from the earth at this spot likely will fall someplace other than here. On the other hand, water that falls here was drunk by the sun somewhere else -- who knows where.

Raindrop reflecting the world upside down.

Today it rained. Not a drought-ending rain, but... rain. Yes, rain. Enough to make the world greener. Brighter. Happier. I went to the offering place, where raindrops were suspended from the ends of branches and the leaves of the redcedar trees. It beaded on the deep green skin of the watermelons and collected in the hollows on our altar stone.
Where the water that fell from the sky came from is anyone's guess. Thank you, wherever that is. Thank you, King Sun.

When the clouds clear, I will do the ritual again. For the cracks remain in the earth. Her thirst is great and it will take much more to quench it. So I will again beseech King Sun.
"Drink your fill, and let it rain.
For the benefit of all living things."

Raindrops make rings in the water puddling on the altar stone.

Offerings...

Inspired by a story related by another blogger, about Raccoon and King Sun, I started leaving a bucket of water in a special place. For the Sun King to drink and quench his thirst, then give us rain, for the benefit of all living things.

Each morning I would retrieve the bucket and empty whatever water was left on some thirsty plant (initially, the lily of the valley I had recently planted there), refill it and return it.

On just the second day of this, it rained. A small storm developed almost on top of us and dropped 0.62 of an inch -- more rain than the last two rain events combined. Then the highs began to settle into more reasonable levels, giving us all (plants, humans and what-have-you) relief.

The grass actually looks green today.

A bucket of water each day until the drought is broken...

And other offerings, just because.
I will pick no more elderberries, even though bushes are still loaded with black gems. I leave them for the birds. (They'd better not let them go to waste.)
I don't mind the rabbits and/or squirrels eating a few tomatoes -- just eat the whole thing, for crying out loud.
And other offerings, as they come to mind. Or happen. Just because...
I am grateful to have what I have.