"Why does weather have to be wet?”

By Linda Patton~July 8, 2015

The Daily prompt I received fits today very well. "Why does weather have to be wet?  Write a story or poem that begins and ends with rain or fog." Rain! Rain! Rain!

Falina paced as the farmer came near. Back and forth, over and over, desperately wanting the door to open and release her into the open green grass. Her eleven half-grown babies tried to stay out of the way, as they begged the farmer to open the door for the day.

As the farmer opened the door, she stepped out onto the ramp and fell to the ground. The ramp had broken and fallen to the ground unnoticed. The weight of the coon who had taunted Falina in the middle of the night, had caused it to break in half and fall to the ground. The babies watched, peeping loudly, asking their mother what to do, afraid to step out of the house. They were still unsure of their ability to fly, and it was a long way to the ground.

She regained her balance, only to realize that the rain still trickled from the sky, droplets landing on her dry, neat feathers.  This would make for a long day. She ran immediately to the open barn, leaving the babies milling around outside. After a quick look around, she ran back to them. The babies began to scatter, walking through the tall wet grass. The farmer had not mowed in days. He never let it get this tall, but the rain refused to cease.

The rain brought out a smorgasbord of worms and bugs, which kept the babies occupied. The torrential downpours also left puddles as big as ponds all around the yard. She would have to watch that the little ones didn’t wade out too deep and drown. The feeders, which usually held so much dry food that it bordered on spilling over the top, now sat empty, except for the water that the buckets of rain had left in its place. She would have to eat from the feeders in the barn.

In her little hutch, Falina had been safe from predators, safe from rain, and safe from the biggest issue-the Rooster. He insisted on her attention. She loved the barn. She couldn’t wait until her babies were big enough to move there safely. The rain meant that the barn would not be the peaceful shelter that she usually enjoyed. The rooster would pick at her, getting on her every nerve, and the other hens would be cranky. She would seek shelter for herself and the babies elsewhere.

When the rain slowed to a slight sprinkle, she and half of the babies stood together on a board to preen their wet feathers. One little one, couldn’t stand it, she jumped onto Falina’s back and rested while they watched the farmer. He drug his hoe through the deep water the rain had left by the barn. With each swipe of the hoe, the water decreased as it ran off into the woods, leaving a smaller river to cross to get to the barn.

As they watched with their feathers dripping wet, the sky suddenly turned loose another round of water. Rain! Rain! Rain! Will it ever end?