The Hydrologic Cycle
by Emily Steele

It is a force of nature that has different meanings for different people. For some of us it is a nuisance. We dread the added 30 minutes it tacks on to our commute and the dirty splashes that stain our clothes as we rush to work, school, our next stop in the day. Others like to curl up with a book and a warm cup of tea when it arrives; still others like to get right out in the middle of it and dance. Children don't understand the potential health risks involved in their carefree play, as their tiny boots fill to the brim and socks become saturated. For some people in the world, however, it is so significant that they cannot afford to have casual thoughts about it; their very survival is dependent upon it. Many of us go about our daily lives and never think about the critical role that it plays in our lives, but for others it (or its absence) is a stark reality of day-to-day life.

It all starts in oceans, lakes, and streams, when the sun heats the bodies of carbon and oxygen that unite in a two to one ratio. The molecules heat to such a point that many of them escape from their homes and rise high in the sky in the form of gas. This is called evaporation. Eventually, as people walk below, gathering food, gossiping, running in the warm sun, the gas cools in clouds high above in the sky, far from shore. These clouds have yet to show their ominous faces above the people who are either anxiously awaiting these dark harbingers of salvation or who are praying that the downpour will wait to come another day. The gases become water vapor through the process of condensation and hang in suspension until the long journey begins.

In some dry and dusty place where the earth is cracked and even weeds refuse to grow, mothers and children alike tilt their heads toward the sun-bleached sky in silent prayer. Cows' ribs protrude unnaturally; their haunches look as if they are going to break through their sagging flesh. Dirty dogs roam aimlessly, rooting in old food wrappers. The feeling of dryness is so tangible and threatening that all living organisms share an unspoken communion from an empty cup. They everything.

In another corner of the world, the sun shines on acres of green grass. Sprinklers whir on incessantly and children play in backyard swimming pools. Fat dogs lounge in the shade of tall trees as their owners make pitchers of lemonade. Children ride for the first time without training wheels, while parents run anxiously behind them along the sidewalk. Young people too young to be teenagers and too old to be little kids roam the streets looking for an abandoned house to play in or a window to break. They conserve nothing.

Finally, a strong wind picks up and the vapor-filled clouds are pushed inland where the vapors cool. The same carbon and oxygen molecules that once resided in those distant lakes, streams, oceans, and rivers recombine in that magical two to one ratio and, through precipitation, the world is showered. Children run for the house over wet pavement, as their parents shout warnings about slipping and then wrap them in fluffy, warm towels. People rush to clean up their picnic supplies; damp cheese, bread, and fruit are stuffed into straw baskets.

In that distant dry place, people rush to get buckets to fill for bathing, washing, drinking, and boiling food. Very small children jump in growing puddles, already imbued with a faint understanding of the enormity of this phenomenon. Not so small children follow adults to gather all the necessary receptacles, as pangs of jealousy fill their hearts when they watch the little ones. The carefree days of youth have gone so quickly.

Every living creature crawls out from its hole, tree, or alley and moves about in this new watery reality that carries the potential for life in abundance. Worms wriggle out of holes beneath the soil, birds hop around playfully in shallow puddles. The thin dog trots about with a newfound fervor for the hunt. The languishing cow flips its tail, happy for a break from the flies that usually cover its eyes and nose and mingle with the static cloud of dust in the air. For now, however, the dust is washed away.

Eventually the shower stops, and the water falls between rocks and slips into the soil beneath the earth where it percolates, slowly meandering back to its home. Plump dogs and lazy cats gradually make their way back outside to enjoy the afternoon sun. Children return freshly clothed to play in the grass, while parents look on lovingly from lawn chairs and front stoops. Teenagers emerge from their angst-filled dens to spend the afternoon in air-conditioned malls. The pre-teen street gangs return to their harmless transgressions. Birds return from their treetop hideouts to hunt for the worms that crawled out in the storm.

The respite from the inferno is over for some. Although their buckets, pans, and pails are full, they know that they must now make this meager supply last, until again those clouds make their long journey back to shore. Although the soil is still damp, the high afternoon sun is warm beneath the children's feet and they know that soon the cracks and dust will return. The cycle begins again, as the sun warms lakes, oceans, and rivers, and the tiny molecules are moved to return to the sky. It will rain again.