喜雨

All spring long the drought persisted, parching the land,

Into summer we plunged, into sudden, sweltering heat.

Filthy sweat stained our collars and sleeves,

While plum-rain dampness steamed from the pillar bases.

A yellow haze veiled the crimson sun,

Confounding the measured hours of noon.

Sand-martins chased wind-kites in the sky,

As they wheeled and flew against the oncoming rain.

Like countless white-feathered arrows shot forth,

Or a volley from ten thousand ox-drawn crossbows.

It drummed on tiles and pattered down the steps,

Bubbling up like water brought to a furious boil.

By morning's end, a thorough, drenching downpour,

The long thirst suddenly soothed and healed.

The old farmers, overjoyed, come visiting,

Greeting each other gladly at the gate.

Silkworms and mulberry leaves—a meager offering readied,

With pork, wine, pipes, and drums.

An auspicious day chosen to thank the village shrine,

The shamaness ends her wild, ecstatic dance.

At dawn they eat their fill, these sturdy men,

Then don rain-hats to plough the soggy, salty fields.

A brief respite granted on the wheat-rent's due date,

Hoping the autumn harvest will make up the loss.

Into the great granary it shall go,

Let the fattened yellow rats have their share.