Dew is on the grass today.
“Yeah, so what?” you might say.
But in a desert climate, dew is a glorious thing. It means visible water. Dew means moisture in the air. Dew is life-giving around this part of the country.
At a sharp, early angle, the morning sunlight on the dew gives it a frost like glow of whiteness. A kid on his way to the bus stop short cuts through the park and leaves a dark trail of footsteps through the dew, clearer than a path through snow. His shoes will be sodden through most of the morning.
The sun rises higher, the shadows shorten, the dew begins to evaporate.
Am I silly to wax poetic about droplets of water on grass? Maybe. Yet there is nothing so miraculous as those tiny drops of hydrogen and oxygen molecules in that perfect recipe. In one drop an entire rainbow resides.
A smattering of water from the sky, at just the right season of the year, can prompt thousands of smaller-than-a-dime frogs to emerge from their yearlong underground slumber. A miniature migration of froglets push their way from one puddle to another puddle for reasons unknown to us mere mortals. And then, the rain subsides, and the little hoppers migrate underground again. All that from a bit of rain.
The desert literally blossoms after a rain. Cacti drink deeply and plump up., agave plants send growths skyward, blooms appear on spiny plants, flowers pop up out of cracks and crevices and bare patches. It’s the desert giving out a visual sigh.
The part of the desert I live in has been temporarily reclaimed from the typical scrub and scrap and dust by canals, irrigation, concrete, electricity, pavement, and row upon row of almost identical houses. If the water went away, so would the people, like so many flowers after the desert rain.
I suppose that’s true of any area of civilization. Water is the one critical ingredient for success. Just those two simple hydrogen molecules combined with an oxygen molecule are all that keep it together for us.
My wonder and awe at the dew on the grass doesn’t seem so odd I think. Perhaps the dew deserves an homage, a song in its honor, a statue in some park, at the very least a day on the calendar to celebrate its immense power.
Imagine that. We’d all go around saying, “Happy Dew Day! or “Happy Water Day!“ Then we’d all drink a glass of water in honor of the lowly, mighty water droplet. Just briefly, once a year, we’d recognize how our life teeters on the rim of a cup, acknowledge out reliance on water and honor the idea that we thrive in its presence.
I hope you notice and enjoy the water in your life today.
Raise a glass, and then drink up.