The Last Rain Permit

Every morning, Leda assigned the valley's clouds from a brass desk in the weather office. Orchards received gentle rain, mills received wind, and weddings paid extra for clear skies. By noon, only one storm remained on her board. The western farmers had waited six dry weeks for it. Leda stamped their permit and reached for the release cord. The office door burst open. A boy stumbled in, smelling of smoke. “The schoolhouse is burning.” Behind him, the farmers entered carrying their stamped permit.