Like a herd of frightened wild mustangs the rain dashed across our fields yesterday. On to the lake, up the hill to the draw it raced, a flash of lightening, a roar of deafening thunder, and all was still as before. Only half an inch the old cream - colored churn in the garden held, but there is a faint hope of new green stirring in the mesquite grass, and the cane and hegira seem to be taking on new life. Little pools were left in the pasture and my little grandson had his first lesson in wading in cool rainwater where his mother had waded when she was a child.