The end of drought

In our land, drought reigned. The earth was cracked, and the rivers had dried up. Every day, we longed for a drop of rain, but the sky only offered us silent, barren clouds. Hope had faded, for many times before, the sky had darkened, yet not a single drop had fallen.

That day, heavy-hearted and sorrowful, I walked toward the farmlands. The scent of dry soil hung in the air. I ran my fingers over the withered, lifeless trees, as if they were breathing their last. Beneath my feet, the yellowed, brittle grass lay weak and broken. My heart tightened, and tears welled up in my eyes.

I lifted my gaze to the sky and whispered with a broken heart, “How much longer must this land remain thirsty?”

Suddenly, a cool breeze stirred. The sky grew darker, and the first drop fell gently on my cheek—a drop that carried the scent of life. In an instant, the heavens opened, and the rain poured down without end. The parched earth drank deeply, and hope blossomed anew in our hearts.