Floridian: How dry we are

How dry we are

By SUSAN ASCHOFF

Each morning we step outside and turn our eyes to the sky. And each morning, we see only a merciless blue.

Blue unmarred by a cloud. Blue seared by a sun that is sinister just because it is here. Again.

And we ask: when will it rain?

A record-breaking spring drought has west-central Florida begging for a drink of water. Rainfall totals are more than 10 inches below average for the month of May alone.

But Mother Nature will not moderate her scorched earth policy. She sheds not a tear of sympathy from her unblinking skies.

The meager grass along the roadways was the first to go. Green blades became stiff straw. The oleander shrubs placed so scenically on the medians, near palm trees forming an archway to a tropical paradise, hang limp and parched, their edges curled.

Lawns were the next to succumb. Countless squares of long-coddled St. Augustine fried and died. The chickweed and thistles, sensing an opening, now invade. Their feathery heads wave in the breeze, saluting their comeback after years in retreat.

The water czars declared an emergency: Residents may water only on specified days at certain hours.

But thirst is making people delirious. Some sneak about in the dark, the whoosh of their sprinklers like the beating of a telltale heart. Their neighbors find patches of wet pavement when they go out for the morning paper. Neighbor rats out neighbor to the water police.

The fortunate few who have reclaimed water have drained the system of pressure. Their sprinkler heads drool in the baking sun.

Jittery firefighters scan the horizon for clouds the color of soot. Since the beginning of the year, more than 84,000 acres have burned across Florida. All the world is kindling.

The psyche longs for the sound of raindrops on the roof, of thunder rumbling in the distance. It yearns for the sight of storm clouds building high over the Gulf of Mexico and then racing ashore in a slate-gray wall of rain. It craves the smell of wet earth.

We wander listlessly, sharing a fevered prayer.

When will it rain?