Chimney swept,
woodstove cleaned,
we head uphill for Manzanita
just in case it rains, take hay
for girls we’ll meet along the way.
The old timers said
it took one year for the snowmelt
to get here underground
filling fissures and granite cracks
to springs and water troughs.
Fears now dispelled
with a bumper crop of squirrels
in spring, feed so short by fall
they become easy-pickings
to a bumper crop of hawks.
Dry ground as hard
as billy-hell, granite flakes
and clay, no matter how
much it rains
it won’t wash away.
drycrikjournal 