In the dog days of August, a gentle rain is like a gift from God. I stand in the mist and watch the water bead and roll from the petals of the flowers I planted last year for the bees and the hummingbirds and the butterflies. This quiet rain settles me after a summer of heat and drought, after all the evenings I’ve spent standing at dusk with the hose, slapping mosquitoes and trying to keep the butterfly garden alive. In the cool mist of this unexpected rain, I think of the water filling the streets of Louisiana, filling the houses and the schools, filling the hay fields. My friend the hay farmer is standing at her kitchen window, I know. She is watching the rain flatten the bahia grass in her fields. She is waiting and waiting for the rain to stop. There is nothing she can do but stand at her kitchen window and wait.