"At first we kept hearing reports of storms and fronts and images of rain falling. But no rain fell on us. We could see the dark moody clouds and we could smell the rain cutting crisp trails through the humid air. But it did not rain. Visitors and volunteers would arrive, their cars shiny wet, their shoes damp from the rain and they would marvel at our baked dry clay and scorched grass.

'It hasn't rained here?' They'd look about perplexed. 'But it's raining right over there.'

I can remember as a child being fascinated by the soggy footsteps of a rainstorm. On this side of the highway it was wet; on that side it was dry. That the rain print was so sharp and clear surprised and delighted me because it seemed mysterious and improbable that messy rain could be so tidy.

When the rain does come, it is a great relief. I had begun to fear water restrictions even though the reservoirs and surrounding water tables were full. It is not uncommon on our planet for the well fed to ignore their starving neighbors. I wanted us to have our own rain.

It arrived in a timid patter, asserted itself more intensely, finally surrendering in a blinding deluge. Looking out my window, I could have been sitting in a car wash. And I suddenly wondered if car washes still exist and if they do, how have they changed? Have computers taken over? Is it a high tech process involving complex chemicals? Is it still fun to sit in the car, pulled along, the big soapy brushes foaming by, the long floppy arms of the dryer pads squeaking against the sparkling glass? Looking out my window I am almost surprised an automatic roller doesn't descend and wipe it clean. The storm rages.

I have read of how the Inuit people have many names and words for snow and that desert peoples have many words for sand and wind. How is it we have so few words for rain? It comes in many shapes and sizes. It can be a fine mist or it can pelt and sting and blind. It can be warm and gentle or ferociously dangerous. It can fly in any direction and it frequently bounces, puddles and catches a lift with the wind, surfs and sprays. It does not always just fall once. Raindrops come round or stretched, small or fat. All rain is not the same.

As vital and necessary as rain is to the life of our planet, as peculiar and varied as it is, I would think we would have many words for it. Our weak vocabulary perhaps indicates our lack of respect or attention. Except when the rain disappears and we die of thirst, we don't much notice the rain. The very thing that gives our planet life, grows the crops, makes us green and habitable, and we are indifferent to it. Even in places like Seattle or England where it rains frequently, the rain is a shrug, nothing more than inevitable annoyance.

Only the fruit grower, the vineyard manager, the orchard foreman, the gardener, the farmer follow the rain with loving attention. And prisoners. We watch the rain. We watch the rain and vow never again to take any small pleasure for granted." (Elizabeth Haysom, Fluvanna Review, August 18, 2005)

Elizabeth Haysom is incarcerated at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women in Troy. Her essays are indexed at Glimpses from Inside.