The rain was always in the back of the real estate brokers mind. When will it rain? The broker kept asking the sky, hoping dark clouds would appear.

The Boston suburbs rivers and reservoirs were bone dry, the lawns were brown and spotty, and the trees were bone dry like perfect kindling.

Homeowners panicked and left their homes, but the broker stayed, waited for the rain.

He imagined water gushing from new roof gutters, wind blowing rain onto his parched lawn. He imagined the rain dancing like ballerinas on the asphalt driveway.

The broker dreamed of sitting at the picnic table, feeling its coolness, its comfort, and, finally, quenching his desperation and answerred prayers.

Happy Fall and Patriot Football Season!

Peace be with you