A lot of us have been thinking about water more than we ever have before.
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A few drops fell from the sky recently, leading to astonishment from the cat and false hope for ourselves and the cows.
The Namoi River that runs behind our property, usually too dangerous for unsupervised swimming, is bone dry. The wildlife is getting closer and closer to the tiny green patch around the house, and kangaroos are a common sight at the troughs.
What a summer it is going to be.
There are many far worse off. Towns that haven't had water for some time, communities watching fires rage as their dams dwindle.
It is only when you can no longer take water for granted that you realise it is our achilles heel. We cannot do without it. All our technology, all our construction, all our social mechanisms, they are nothing when we have no water.
I never drank water growing up. I was one of the cordial and cask wine generation - increasingly strong cordial for us while our mums got together over a Coolabah riesling or moselle. Ribena was considered a health food.
To this day, my mum finds it unnatural to drink a glass of water. Luckily, the Coolabah has long since gone by the wayside.
I moved to Cairns when I was 22, setting off on a solo adventure in an old car with no air-conditioning in December. This, combined with a bout of glandular fever, saw me in a pretty bad state by the time I got there.
I went to the doctor. He asked me how much water I was drinking.
Water? I asked. I didn't realise it was for drinking.
I also now know that water is critical to keeping your family relationships intact. All my major barneys can either be traced back to too many wines and not enough water, or major crankiness fuelled by significant dehydration. Think about it.
At the moment, I take no glass of water for granted.
The little bits in the bottom of drinking glasses go on the plants on the windowsill, the bucket sits ready for the shower, the rain gauge stands like an archeological relic of more wasteful times.
Please let it rain.
Those quiet farmers, worrying over starving cattle, those farming children, worrying over critically stressed mums and dads - they need it. And so do our land and our animals.
This drought is a hard and thirsty lesson for us all.
Marie Low is a freelance journalist.
