Tuesday, December 18, 2012


Rain thunders down on dust dry hills
Echoing, permeating
Through my tin roof shack.
Tall mule deer pose
As the air becomes scented with static.
Buds of only now green weeds turn skyward
Like hungry parched mouths.

Anticipating drought
Creeks now flushed with water
Race toward the Skaha Queen.

No comments:

Post a Comment