Rain

Rain 
By Skylark Woodrow


	I poked my head out of our little nest: the sun was already shining brightly overhead, further scorching the dying plants. It had not rained in so long. Rain was something I had never seen and I was already three weeks old. Momma said that it stopped raining long before my brother, sister, and I were ever born. She told us stories about the water that fell from the sky and turned everything green. She said that the rain would bring up our food from the soil and create beautiful things like flowers. My siblings and I would go to bed dreaming of it and say that we smelt it and felt it and that we knew that it was coming soon, but the rain never came.
	Our family would be moving on soon; searching for water. Roseblossom had been sick and Momma wanted to wait until she was feeling better before we left. Mapleleaf was just itching to leave the nest and so was I, but I did not let Momma see it. Things had been twice as hard for her since Poppy disappeared.
	I glanced back into the nest; Momma looked thinner and tired, she was almost just fur and bones. I looked up to the sky, “God,” I squeaked, “please send the rain, and help Momma. I don't really remember Poppy, but I bet Momma misses him somethin' awful.”
	Mapleleaf joined me. “Do you think we're leaving today,” he asked, looking up at me and rubbing one eye with his paw.
	“I don't know.” I smoothed the fur on his ears, “we are out of water and...” I heard Momma stir. I stopped and looked back as her eyes flickered open. “Now don't go buggin' Momma,” I whispered as Mapleleaf darted towards her.
	He hugged her tightly. 
	“I know what's on your mind.” She gave a sad smile as she reached out and ruffled his ear. “Don't worry; we will be on our way today.”
	“Are you sure Momma,” I asked, grabbing her paw.
	“Yes, Cornflower, I'm sure,” she tried to reassure me, but her voice still had that strained note to it. “Help Mapleleaf gather our things.”
	I looked away. “Yes Momma,” I whispered. 
	We packed what we could into an old leaf pack before we brought it over to Momma. She added two old bits of cloth we used for blankets to the top and tied them in place. Hefting it onto her back, she lovingly slid her paw over our old hazelnut shell cradles before turning and leaving it all behind.
	“When traveling we do not stop to eat,” she instructed us. “You have to grab things along the way. Never stray from the others or stop; only grab what is right beside you.”
	Mapleleaf and I nodded our heads, but little Roseblossom just stumbled on trying to keep up.
	We waded through the shriveled-up leaves and clover patches, every now and then passing a berry bush with a stray berry or two that had not been seen by other hungry eyes or shriveled by the sun. The trees towered above us, reaching to heaven, and hidden within the branches we heard the birds crackle and sing mournfully overhead.
	Momma brought a finger to her lips and motioned for us to stay close to her, tip toeing along carefully until we could no longer hear the birds. Finally, she stopped. Just before us was a small hole cradled at the base of a tree.
	Taking off the pack, she turned, “Stay here,” she mouthed. Gingerly, she padded over to the hole. She sniffed the air, her nose twitching, quivering, testing the air before slipping inside. The three of us huddled together, unsure of what would happen next. At last, we saw her nose and whiskers pop out and we all breathed a sigh of relief.
	I shouldered the pack, and we all made our way into the tree. Inside it was smaller than our old nest, but not too small. There were old grasses from the family before us, but they were stiff with age and disuse.
	Momma had her paws on her hips. “Clear this out,” she instructed. “I will go out and search for some new bedding and food.” 
	The faint light streaming in from the entrance flashed and she was gone.
	We started clearing the old nest and just as we finished Momma brought in a load of new nesting material. She set it down, and we mouselings followed Momma through the tall dry grass to help her find more. Suddenly she froze. She sat back on her hind legs and her ears twitched this way and that. I sat up and listened also. What did she hear? My ears picked up a sound that they had never heard before. 
	“Plip, Plop, Sploosh, Plop, Woosh.” 
	Momma scampered up a small tree with us right at her heels. 
	“Rain,” she breathed, and I looked around and saw the little shimmering balls falling from the sky.  One rolled off a leaf down towards us. Momma frantically grabbed a small leaf and caught it as it tried to fall to the ground. She held it to her lips and drank greedily.
	Roseblossom and I both looked at each other in awe. Mapleleaf cheered, jumped onto a nearby stalk and climbed to the top. He opened his mouth and a big rain drop splashed all over his face. Squealing with delight, he shook his head. “It’s cold!” 
He shivered as he flashed me a quick smile before jumping to a nearby twig to catch another one.
	I nimbly lept from my branch and danced about gleefully as the raindrops fell faster and faster.
They would turn everything green. They would bring up our food from the soil and create the flowers. They would help everything come alive again.