One after another, each
bone-weary day wakes
into a blend of light:
cattle, hills and fading green,
full of doubt. After yesterday’s
branding, Frank Ainley offers
a lengthy, hats-off grace
encompassing good neighbors
and food with an afterthought:
reminding the Lord that we all,
except for maybe me, need
some rain. To be so solemnly
singled-out to a God I wouldn’t
bother—juggling so many crises
on this planet—seems appropriate,
yet requires, as he knows,
a special request from me,
or perhaps be left out.
Ever the teacher, the coach
the deacon, the way is clear
to his Almighty God.
drycrikjournal 
Lovely; wish I could send some of our rain your way…
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