The Toad and the Rain

The afternoon sun poured down on the brick yard like thick honey. The yard was hot and silent. Not a breath of wind stirred. The leaves on the tree hung still, as if taking a midday nap. The whole garden was hushed, as though it were waiting for a single drop of rain.

Under the eaves sat a small toad. He squatted in the shade with all four legs tucked in, his rough back the brown of bare earth. He sat perfectly still. Still as a pebble. Still as a leaf that has just dropped onto the doorstep.

The toad was waiting. He was waiting for the first raindrop of the season.

The toad sits still. The toad waits for rain.

There is a reason the little toad waits so quietly. The old tellers say that long ago, Heaven made him a promise. Whenever the earth below needed rain, Heaven said, the toad had only to sit right there on the ground and send word up. Heaven would hear it and let the rain fall at once. Since then, the toad has trusted Heaven's word completely. On dry, sunny days he comes out to sit beneath the eaves and wait for the first rain of the season.

The sun still shone. The brick yard was still hot. The toad kept waiting. He was not impatient, and he did not leave. All around him, everything held its breath. A dragonfly perched on a blade of grass did not move. The last drop of sunlight lingering by the doorstep lay still. Only the toad stirred a little. Gently he ground his teeth together and made one very small sound. Ken, ken. That was him sending word to Heaven that down here the earth was longing for rain. Message sent, he settled again, his round eyes half closed.

The toad sits still. The toad waits for rain.

After a long, long wait, a gray cloud drifted in from the far edge of the sky. It came slowly, closer and larger with each moment. The sky softened. The sunlight faded, then went out. A cool breeze came from somewhere, slipped past the eaves and gently shook a few leaves. The garden seemed to wake, swaying and rustling.

The toad lifted his small head. He caught a strange, sweet smell. It was the smell of earth. The ground had been dry and cracked for a long time, and now, touched by the breath of rain, it gave off a deep, earthy fragrance that was cool all through his nose. That was the smell of rain on its way.

The toad sits still. The toad waits for rain.

Then came a soft plip. The first drop of rain fell on the yard. Just one, round and clear, resting on the bricks that were still warm. Then plip, plop, and another drop. And then another. The first rains of the season began to fall, sparse and slow, pattering on the eaves.

The toad was overjoyed. Heaven's promise from long ago had come true. He edged out from under the eaves a little way and lifted his small face to the high sky. A cool drop fell and settled right beside his mouth. He stuck out his tiny tongue and licked it. So cool. So fresh. The first rain of the season soaked into his tongue, down into his small belly, and left him cool from head to foot. He blinked, and let out a soft, happy cry.

The toad licks the rain. He has waited, and the rain has come.

The rain grew thicker. It tapped on the banana leaves, tap-tap, tap-tap. It ran in a thin stream along the edge of the eaves. Then it poured down in a steady rush over the whole garden. The brick yard lost its heat and turned cool. The ground drank until it was full, and darkened to a deep brown. The grass and trees lifted their heads, glossy green, stretching out to bathe in the rain.

The little toad sat quietly under the eaves, listening to the rain fall. He was in no hurry to go anywhere. He just sat, and now and then he flicked out his tongue for another cool, clear drop. The steady, gentle sound of the rain was like a lullaby. He half closed his eyes, his small belly rising and falling, his heart quietly glad.

The toad sits still. The toad listens to the rain.

From then on, whenever rain is about to fall, a soft grinding of teeth drifts up from beside the house and from the edge of the pond. Ken, ken. That is the little toad telling Heaven that down here a cool rain will soon be needed. Then the clouds gather again, the wind stirs again, the smell of earth rises again, and the first rains of the season patter once more on the leaves.

When a very small ken, ken sounds from the garden at night, the toad is sitting still beneath the eaves, waiting to lick the first drop of rain.