Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Rain is the stranger.

    The stranger has rarely been seen in these parts. The familiar is the dry dust. Dustland is the familiar, dust is the enclosed community. Dust is the weird mean shelter. What does it mean to be a-lee when the wind blows the hardy souls not over waves or flat water now waving in wind, but over flat dust?

    The small den of shelter is a wide open land of unprotection.

    Rain is the stranger.

    Here comes rain over the horizon, here comes the stranger, we see the stranger approaching now, we see the stranger coming towards us. Yes. It will be true. It has to be true. The promised land comes to us, in the shape and form of that far-off shimmer.

    (Photo by Susan, Death Valley, 2005)
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.