Overnight, an iridescent, lime green
overwhelms hillsides and canyons
with tender leaves, feathers flushed
upon the gnarled limbs and boney twigs
of Blue Oaks pulsing with spring—
with life reborn, fresh as garden salads,
tropical pockets of overlapping greens
where armies of gray skeletons stood
anchored in the hard clay and granite
with centuries of faith in a rain.
Overnight, we are saved—believers
in storms from heaven, once again.
drycrikjournal 