The sun hangs behind the ridge
to glow for a moment at the equinox,
take time to visit Nevada before climbing
the Sierras into our blinding daybreak. After
longer nights, the clay and granite slopes
of this canyon oven, cool now at dawn
prolonged—the urgency of work gone
as we plod once more with certain hope
beyond the months of blistering dry heat.
We suffer summer for the other seasons
when it might storm, damp air teeming
with fresh potential inhaled into our flesh—
we come alive, breathe relief. The gods
take their sweet time to find their places
in the light—tease us, please us now.
drycrikjournal 