Fist upon the sun gods. Seek among the goddess earth. Chant and clang before icons: oh please, good fortunes, new birth and wealth. Sacrifice a goat - the blood will dry at the foot of the temple. The blood will dry and still no rain.
Scream into the night for a pittance of hope demanded and stir a neighbor's peace a dog's twitch into soup dreams of portent and panic. Yes, that, once done, bestows upon us the riches, the riches the ancients cached:
Dishes wash smoother when soaked. A grain in a bowl is not empty. Basil brings life to bland fare. The herbs of spring strengthen once dried and stored for winter, and the yeast of us rise unto heaven.